


Special Relativity

by buttonstuck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Linear Narrative, astronaut oikawa, the only person who loves oikawa more than i do is iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonstuck/pseuds/buttonstuck
Summary: Time moves differently for people in different inertial reference frames.--Oikawa goes on a two-year exploratory mission in space. Iwaizumi's been waiting for a lot longer than that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this again because it was deleted for some ~grad school applications~. Thank you to all the people who commented on and gave kudos to the first edition, and I'm very sad that those were all deleted :c 
> 
> Enjoy!

Hajime goes to watch the shuttle touch down, far enough back in the crowd that he only sees the descent in person and has to watch the docking on a large screen set up over the spectators’ heads. It’s oppressively hot—without a hat Hajime feels like his brains are roasting inside his skull and the tarmac makes the air wobble. He’s wearing the same shirt as the day the shuttle launched, the alien design on the front now faded and the armpits permanently stained. It’s sticking to his back and it’s tight around his neck.

He’s calm. There’s no reason for him not to be. The vessel sits and hordes of people in day-glo vests swarm around it. A shell of ladders and supports collects around the hull of the craft. They work quickly, but in the space business nothing is quick. Even two years can end up being eight, if you’re moving fast enough. Chasing light through the universe.

Hajime drains his water bottle before the shell clicks into place and people are climbing the ladders. An hour and fifteen minutes since landing. Nobody wants the ship to explode, he figures, so they’re being careful. He’s antsy, impatient, bored. He wonders if coming this far was the right move.

A frenzy of conversation makes its way from the front of the crowd, and when it reaches Hajime he can already see what’s causing it on the giant screen. The camera zooms uncertainly, and there’s a hatch opening toward the base of the shuttle, and then someone steps out.

Hajime wasn’t anxious, or concerned, or anything but cautiously excited, but the moment a person appears in the opening his heart jumps into his throat and his stomach flips. He crushes the plastic of his water bottle in his hand. The crowd is silent and then he’s surrounded by deafening cheers, accented by claps and whistles. The first astronaut needs a little help down the steps but then she’s on the ground. She waves.

Another person, a man. Hajime’s eyes flick over him and the face is familiar but not in the right way. He’s seen pictures of this man, in front of an American flag, a space helmet in his lap. The American contingent of the crowd goes absolutely wild and Hajime smiles nervously, wondering if he could elbow his way to the front of the crowd in time.

Then a third person steps out onto the metal steps on the shell and Hajime has less than a second to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to see Oikawa Tooru for the first time in eight years and it’s going to be on a screen.

Oikawa’s smiling at the person taking his arm. His legs are wobbly but they hold him just fine. His hair is styled—Hajime surprises himself by laughing out loud, nervous energy trying to work itself off—and he must have done it specially right before they landed. Oikawa walks down the steps and the crowd bursts into cheers again, and this time it feels different to Hajime. _Yeah_ , is what he thinks, illogically, _You’d better cheer. You’d better cheer for him._

 _He’s mine_ , he almost thinks, but eight years is a long time.

All of a sudden it’s too hot, and Hajime can’t breathe. He turns and pushes his way out of the crowd. Oikawa looks so young. He is so young. For him it’s been two easy years. Hajime’s been stumbling his way through eight years and he’s not sure if they’ve been easy.

His heart is pounding and he looks back to the screen, and they’ve already moved on to another person, a woman, leaving the shuttle. If he were in the front he’d see Oikawa in person. He wonders if it would feel more real that way, but he’s not sure. Oikawa won’t feel real again until Hajime can touch him, can reach out and feel Oikawa’s shoulder under his hand, can hear his name from his mouth.

 

 

Hajime receives a text two days after the landing, when he’s already home from Tanegashima. It’s an unknown number and his stomach curls. He puts down the chopsticks he’s cooking with and opens the message.

 _Hey! It’s your favorite best friend in the entire universe ;0 I don’t know if you know but I’m back! This is my new number and you’d better save it! We need to catch up!!_ ☆☆ **ミ**

 

How could Hajime not have known that Oikawa was back? Eight years, twenty years, fifty years, Hajime could forget how to put on his own shirt and he’d make them wheel him out to the landing site so he could watch Oikawa step out of the stars and back onto Earth. It might scare him, if he really thought about it, how little he wouldn’t do for Oikawa.

Hajime swallows and tries to make the ugly cluster of nerves in his chest untangle. It’s just Oikawa. It’s just Oikawa and Hajime hasn’t seen him in a little while. He saves the number and types out a long response, but it sounds awkward and bumbling even to him so he erases it and replies quickly, before he can lose the nerve.

_When can I see you?_

 

 

Oikawa’s girlfriend breaks up with him on a Saturday in the summer before their last year of high school, and two hours later he’s at Hajime’s door with a fake wink and a six-pack of beer. Hajime lets him in and he’s glad his parents are out, because Oikawa’s whining gets obnoxiously loud.

“I didn’t even really like her anyway,” Oikawa says as Hajime looks for a bottle opener.

Hajime closes another drawer, a small tab of metal in his hand. “Right. That’s why you went out with her.”

“She asked me very nicely,” Oikawa says flippantly as he hands over a bottle. Hajime opens it with a little puff and then hands it back. “It was for fun.”

“So what did you do this time?”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries. “That is not a nice thing to ask!”

“Sorry.” Hajime opens a bottle for himself and pockets the metal tab. He takes a sip as he looks up to Oikawa. “What did she _say_ you did this time?”

Oikawa huffs and takes a sip of his own beer. “That I didn’t spend enough time with her. Which isn’t true! I was with her all the time—even _you_ started complaining about it.”

“I did not.”

“Please. I could see it in your eyes.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Iwa-chan, I am _distraught_ , and you’re laughing at me,” Oikawa accuses with a scowl.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hajime drawls. “I am equally distraught. Your pain is my pain.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and tips his head back to take a long swig. It almost looks like he’s about to start chugging and Hajime’s hand comes up immediately, eyebrows furrowing as he pulls the bottle away from Oikawa’s lips.

“Calm down,” he says. “We have all night. Drink away your worries _responsibly_.”

Oikawa pushes Hajime’s hand away, though not hard. Then he hums. “Can we go onto the roof?”

Hajime grimaces. “My mom doesn’t want me doing that anymore.”

“Okay, but is she here? No. Can we please?” Oikawa bats his eyelashes in a way he probably thinks is cute. “Pretty please?”

“I was going to say yes but now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re so mean to me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tuts.

“You carry the beer,” Hajime says. Oikawa blinks. “To the roof. I’m not carrying it.”

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” Oikawa gushes excitedly, and Hajime rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” And they’re grabbing the beer, going out onto the roof outside Hajime’s bedroom window, and helping each other up to the top of the house.

The sun is long gone, just a glow on the edge of the horizon. There’s a street lamp outside his house, just below where they sit, but when Oikawa leans back and rests his head against the rough grit of the roof he just smiles and sighs. The air is still humid but it’s cool, a faint breeze ruffling Oikawa’s hair. Hajime watches him until they’re lying next to each other, the six-pack sitting on the gutter.

“What did you do today?” Oikawa asks. Hajime lifts his head to take a sip of beer and shrugs.

“Worked. You’d think it was really boring,” Hajime says, adjusting his position so the shingles don’t dig into his shoulder blades. “Moving boxes and cleaning and whatever.”

Oikawa just hums. “Do you think it’s boring?”

Hajime shrugs. “I don’t care. It’s not stressful.”

“Not stressful is good.”

“Oh, shut up, Mr. Genius honor student,” Hajime ribs. “It’s boring. Boredom is what’s going to kill you someday.”

“I’m not a genius,” Oikawa says, more softly than Hajime expects. Hajime looks over to him. Oikawa’s eyes are sharp, unsure, scanning the sky.

“Are you okay?” Hajime asks.

Oikawa nods. “I’m great. It’s so cute when you’re concerned, Iwa-chan.” He turns and winks and Hajime kicks at him.

“Never mind, you’re fine,” Hajime grumbles. “And insufferable.”

“But somehow you suffer me,” Oikawa says. He takes a long swig and crosses his legs.

Hajime regards him suspiciously but doesn’t say anything. A couple streets over someone starts a car, but otherwise the night is quiet. Cicadas chirp in the distance, and with the humidity they make a heavy blanket of summer. It’s the kind of thing he thinks he might be nostalgic about in twenty years. He wonders what he’ll think of high school when he’s thirty.

It’s also too late for mosquitoes, though he hears the occasional buzz by his ears. Oikawa is uncharacteristically quiet, and then he raises his hand, pointing to the sky.

“Do you see that bright star there?” he asks. Hajime squints—there’s enough light pollution from downtown Sendai that the stars are dim. When he goes with his family to the mountains there are always more. The sky behind them is always darker there.

“There’s a lot of stars,” he says anyway. Oikawa grunts and then scoots closer to Hajime, leaning up on an elbow. Hajime can feel how warm he is, can feel the brush of his cotton t-shirt. His jaw clenches and he tries to follow Oikawa’s finger.

“Right up there,” Oikawa says softly. Hajime thinks he sees it so he nods.

“What about it?”

“That’s Vega,” Oikawa says. “Fifth brightest star in the night sky. It’s part of the constellation Lyra.”

Hajime nods again and Oikawa’s finger moves. “That one there is Altair. Twelfth-brightest, part of Aquila. The eagle who held Zeus’s lightning.”

Hajime isn’t sure he’s getting the right stars at all, but Oikawa is so close that he’ll pretend for as long as he has to. “Okay.”

“That’s Deneb. It’s sorta hard to see from here, but it’s the nineteenth-brightest star. It’s part of Cygnus, the swan.”

Hajime’s eyes leave the stars and drift to Oikawa’s face, and at first he can’t tell the difference between them. His expression has entirely changed. Where it had been pinched and uncomfortable before it’s now open, bright. His eyes sparkle, even in the orange street lamp light. Hajime feels, not for the first time, entirely outclassed. Like a toddler learning numbers from a teacher. Oikawa’s finger passes between the stars.

“That’s the Summer Triangle. If you can’t find the Milky Way you can just look for the triangle. Deneb sits right in the middle of it and then it passes through Vega and Altair,” Oikawa says.

“Why do you need to find the Milky Way?” Hajime asks. Oikawa shrugs and shifts so his head is propped up by his hand. Hajime tries to find the stars again, the ones Oikawa pointed to, but he’s not sure he can.

“Because we’re in it,” Oikawa says. “And when you see individual stars you don’t really get a sense of how big they are, how far away they are.” He swallows. “But when you look at the Milky Way you have to think…it looks like a cloud, you know? But it’s made up of billions and billions of stars, and they’re all so far apart, but it’s just so far away that it looks like one big glow. And that’s just in our galaxy.”

Hajime wants to take a sip of beer, to hide his face behind the bottle, to take his eyes off of Oikawa’s tiny smile, his bright eyes. He doesn’t, and they sit for a while.

“It’s too big,” he finally says. “I don’t like it.”

Oikawa laughs and shifts so he’s lying on his back again, close enough that his arm touches Hajime’s. It’s colder than his, bare skin smooth against his own. “I love it,” Oikawa says. He and Hajime drink at the same time. “Do you get that feeling in your stomach?”

Hajime doesn’t know if he does. Maybe. Maybe his brain just isn’t big enough to comprehend it the same way Oikawa does so it doesn’t affect him the same way. But his gut _is_ twisting and it feels a little hollow, like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff. He thinks it might have less to do with how big stars are and more with how he’s able to feel each of Oikawa’s breaths.

“Michiko-chan said I was more interested in aliens than her,” Oikawa says.

“Was she wrong?” Hajime asks. Oikawa shrugs.

“It’s not my fault aliens are more interesting than she is,” he says flippantly.

“Oikawa,” Hajime says. Oikawa finishes his beer and sits up to fit the bottle back into the cardboard pack. He takes another and hands it to Hajime to open. Hajime takes it but doesn’t open it immediately. “Don’t pretend like you don’t care. It’s bad for you.”

Oikawa looks back tiredly and smiles. “What if I don’t care?”

“Then you wouldn’t have shown up at eleven with alcohol,” Hajime says. He pops the top off the bottle and hands it back to Oikawa. “You can care about stars and what people think at the same time.”

“Impossible,” Oikawa tuts. “People are dumb and space is great and I don’t care.”

“You’re a person, which means you’re dumb too, dumbass,” Hajime says. “It’s okay to care.”

Oikawa sighs, beleaguered, and plops back down onto his back. His arm isn’t touching Hajime’s anymore and Hajime wonders if he can move over just enough that they touch without being conspicuous.

“You want people to like you,” he says instead. “Everybody does. And when they don’t like you as much as you want them to it sucks.”

“Ugh,” Oikawa grunts, and Hajime takes it as agreement.

Hajime shrugs and his eyes turn back up to the sky. He tries to remember where Oikawa was pointing, to find the stars he was talking about among the wash of them above. He thinks he finds some that form a triangle, but he can’t find the Milky Way between them.

They each have another couple drinks, and halfway through the third one Hajime knows he’s feeling it. Oikawa seems about the same. The sky has darkened more and both the stars and the orange-ish light from the city are stronger. Oikawa rolls over to face Hajime, resting his head on his arm like a pillow.

“What’s up?” Hajime asks, and he realizes that he’d been close to dozing off.

“Nothing,” Oikawa says, and he’s looking at Hajime like he was looking at the sky before, like he’s analyzing a physics problem, like he’s searching for stars. Hajime wonders if the stars feel like a spotlight has been placed on them as well, when Oikawa looks at them. If it’s too bright. If it’s too hot.

“We should go back inside,” Hajime says. “It’s late.” Oikawa doesn’t move and neither does Hajime. “Do you have clothes?”

Oikawa yawns. “What?”

“Did you bring clothes?”

“No, I—” Oikawa starts, and then he understands. Hajime sees the smallest flicker of a smile dart across his face and then he’s sitting up, flippant again. “I guess I’ll have to sleep in Iwa-chan’s sweatpants again,” he complains, stretching. “My ankles will be cold.”

“Asshole,” Hajime mutters, hoisting himself up and pushing Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa shrugs and gives a smile that dazzles the girls at school but just irritates Hajime. “You can sleep in your jeans.”

“That isn’t good for you, Iwa-chan. Do you want me to get indigestion? I’m okay with cold ankles.”

“Shut up,” Hajime says, and he lowers himself down to the stretch of roof outside his window. When Oikawa follows him he holds out a hand, which Oikawa takes even though they’ve been climbing up and down this roof for years. Hajime doesn’t read too much into it, because he’s somewhere between tipsy and drunk and he knows Oikawa is the same.

Oikawa ends up wearing his sweatpants and sleeping next to him in his bed, and Hajime doesn’t want—isn’t allowed to want—anything more than his back brushing up against Oikawa’s, warm, feeling his breaths slow as he drifts off.

 

 

Oikawa has press conferences and TV spots and physicals all week and into the beginning of the next, but they agree to meet on a Tuesday nine days after the shuttle lands. Hajime isn’t sure what they should do, but Oikawa agrees to meeting up at a tea place downtown.

Hajime’s patience has served him for eight years but he’s early anyway, stuck in line behind an American woman trying desperately to communicate what tea she wants to the monolingual barista. Then he’s sitting in a corner table with a warm to-go cup in his hands, in case Oikawa wants to walk somewhere, or in case he has to leave, or in case his hands shake and he needs a cup with a lid.

A couple minutes past one Oikawa walks in, and where Hajime expects the gut-punch of nostalgia he just gets a little flicker of anxiety. It’s anticlimactic, when Oikawa scans the shop and Hajime waves just a little. When Oikawa’s eyes light up and he grins and Hajime wonders if he can still tell the difference between his real and fake smiles. When Hajime stands and Oikawa pulls him into a firm hug, his back warm and a little damp with sweat, and he’s real and solid under Hajime’s hands.

He’s wearing a blue and white striped t-shirt and Hajime can’t remember if he owned it before he left. He remembers helping Oikawa pack, putting boxes and plastic bins into a storage locker. Oikawa seems to notice him zoning out and waves a hand in front of his face.

“You in there, Iwa-chan?”

Hajime blinks and nods. “You’re here,” he says dumbly, like saying it will make him react more strongly.

“Of course I am,” Oikawa scoffs. “Did you think I would ditch?”

No—that’s not what Hajime means, but he takes it. “You were late,” he points out. Oikawa shrugs.

“ _Fashionably late,”_ he corrects. “Just goes to show even after two years in a jumpsuit I’m still the fashionable one.”

“Your fashion sense is from eight years ago,” Hajime says, and Oikawa wrinkles his nose.

“I am a quick study,” he says, turning. “Now I’m going to go get some tea. Don’t miss me too much!”

Hajime could make some comment about how long he’s missed him already, but if Oikawa’s still the same person he doesn’t need the inflation of his ego, which is already suffocating. Hajime doesn’t like small spaces. He sits again, wishing he’d gotten iced tea instead, because his skin feels too hot.

It’s all too sudden and odd and he thinks he should be way more emotional. He wouldn’t admit it but there were times when he imagined a tearful reunion, clinging to Oikawa like he was going to float away again, kissing him senseless in some airport terminal like a movie, crying into his shoulder because it’s been so _long_ and I missed you so _much_.

But instead he watches Oikawa order tea, squint up at the board behind the bar, act like he’s some discerning tea sommelier when really he’s just going to order peach-flavored black tea with milk and drink it through a straw. When he’s done he’ll crunch on the ice because it’s crushed here instead of large cubes and for some reason that thought hits Hajime harder than anything else has.

He swallows as a wave of fondness crashes over him and then he realizes he’s watching Oikawa with a smile like some lovesick teenager. Part of him wants to let it go, to accept it. But he’s thirty-four now, a real adult. His other friends are married; some have kids. He’s thirty-four and Oikawa’s twenty-eight. They were born a little more than a month apart. He doesn’t like to think about it.

Oikawa comes back and sits, drink in hand. He squints at Hajime for a second and then snaps his fingers. “Your haircut.”

Hajime furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”

“Your hair is a little bit different,” Oikawa says, taking a sip of his tea through a straw. “Shorter.”

“Is it?”

“Yep,” Oikawa says. “It’s good. Less hedgehog.”

“You’re gone for eight years and the first thing you say to me is an insult,” Hajime says in wonder. “You’re incredible.”

“I try,” Oikawa says with a wink. “Who knows what happened to your ego while I wasn’t around? Anyway, it wasn’t an insult to you _now_.”

Hajime can feel the familiar twinge of annoyance coming back to him, the urge to scowl into Oikawa’s smug face and kick him. It’s comfortable in a way he hadn’t realized he’d missed. “Shittykawa,” he says reflexively.

Oikawa smiles sweetly and wraps his lips around the straw. Hajime takes a large sip from his to-go cup and wonders why the hell he was worried in the first place. It’s Oikawa. He made him cry when they were six and he said that all the dinosaurs were dead. He went to Oikawa’s house at two in the morning with coffee to get him through an all-nighter in high school. Oikawa is dumb and pompous and full of himself and Hajime has missed him so, so much.

They talk, and Oikawa asks for a rundown of every culturally important movie and pop song released while he was gone. Hajime isn’t the best person to convey that kind of information but he does his best. He asks about life on the shuttle and Oikawa breezes through layman’s explanations of keeping the vessel operational, numbers, mechanics, carefully planned exercise time.

Apparently one part of the ship is constantly spinning, so for part of the day they get to hang out in partial gravity. Every day is scheduled to the minute. Even with only an hour and a half or so of free time Oikawa got through nineteen different books.

Hajime feels like he doesn’t have much to talk about, nothing that Oikawa would be interested in. He mentions his teaching degree—he decided to go for a Masters a year or so after Oikawa left and now he’s teaching history at a middle school. He’s been playing volleyball with a few other teachers, and they hold irregular, informal games.

Compared to Oikawa’s anecdotes about maintaining shields and zero gravity and moving at 96% of the speed of light it seems like Hajime’s been standing still. He’s proud of his life, but he’s prouder of Oikawa’s.

When they’re done with their drinks they decide to meet again later in the week, for dinner. Hajime isn’t sure what to do, when they’re standing outside the tea shop, but Oikawa pulls him in for another hug and he allows himself to relax just enough to return it and let himself feel Oikawa’s body next to his. Real. Here. Oikawa.

Then Oikawa’s waving and leaving and Hajime stands on the sidewalk. Without Oikawa right there with him it feels like some sort of dream. Like real life and Oikawa Tooru life are separate and now he’s back on Earth. He remembers when Oikawa Tooru _was_ real life, when it seemed fake without him.

It’s more thinking than Hajime wants to do so he smiles down at the date in his calendar and pockets his phone, heading in the opposite direction toward the train station.

 

 

They meet again about a week later, and it’s the same deal. This time it’s food—a small place Hajime goes to with Hanamaki sometimes after work. They talk and it’s great and Oikawa jabs at him in a way Hajime missed. He thinks he might be a bit of a party-pooper with how quiet he’s being, preferring to watch Oikawa eat and will himself to feel any emotion except _okay_.

But it is okay. They eat and laugh and Oikawa tells Hajime to bring Hanamaki and Matsukawa around for drinks sometime. They’re both married. They had the ceremonies very close together—their respective fiancées had to talk them out of doing them back-to-back—and Matsukawa already has a little girl going into elementary school next year. When Hajime tells this to Oikawa he watches some small spark flicker and then die behind Oikawa’s eyes.

“I bet he’s an amazing dad,” Oikawa says. “I bet he wrapped her in bubble wrap.”

“And made me buy it,” Hajime says, and Oikawa laughs. “Of course he’s an amazing dad. He came to my apartment sobbing a couple weeks after she was born because he was terrified he was going to fuck something up. He kept talking about how _small_ she was and how there was a whole little _person_ in there.”

“I need to meet her,” Oikawa says, something drifting in his voice. He cuts it off with a bright smile and then sighs, drooping dramatically and putting his head on his hands on the table. “Iwa-chan, you’re all so _old_.”

“Hey,” Hajime challenges, reaching out to thump Oikawa on the nose. Oikawa tucks his nose into his hands to hide and Hajime has to give himself a moment because it’s so goddamn endearing that he thinks his heart has fallen out onto the table. He gathers it back up and makes sure his face doesn’t betray the stomach-turning, _aching_ fondness rushing through him. He taps Oikawa on the head instead. “Then you’d better start calling me Iwaizumi-san, _kouhai_.”

Oikawa’s face screws up with more disgust than Hajime thinks most people even possess. “I would sooner scoop out my eyes.”

“You’re being awfully informal,” Hajime says, taking another bite of his chicken. “Is that any way to speak to your elders?”

Oikawa groans and falls to the side, head bonking on the wood of the seat. “Old Iwa-chan would never do this to me,” he accuses.

“I thought I _was_ ‘old Iwa-chan,’” Hajime says and Oikawa groans again, long and accompanied by a half-hearted kick. When Oikawa sits up again his hair is messy on one side, and that combined with the tired, distrustful look on his face makes Hajime laugh.

“You’ve become a menace,” Oikawa says.

“You’re off your game,” Hajime replies lightly, making eye contact as he eats another piece of chicken. Oikawa wrinkles his nose and then sighs.

“Nobody else in the crew could keep up,” he says. “I’ve been _unchallenged_ , is all.”

It’s okay, and it’s fun, and Hajime enjoys himself. But when they walk to the train station Oikawa doesn’t lean on his shoulder, like he would have when they were twenty-six. He gives Hajime a loose hug at the station and promises to meet again and nothing is _wrong_ with it but Hajime feels off. He goes home and the next day he starts putting together lesson plans because August is almost over and the new semester will start soon.

He realizes part of the problem on another coffee date, this one in the morning so that Oikawa can be interviewed in the afternoon. Oikawa is a theatrical person, all gesture and inflection and hyperbole. He’s always been this way and Hajime knows it, but it comes to an uncomfortable head when he and Oikawa are talking and a waitress comes over to take their order.

Oikawa is surprisingly normal, it seems. He’s flirty and fun, but it doesn’t seem as over-the-top as Hajime remembers him being around strangers. He would go all out and it would make Hajime sick and he’d kick Oikawa under the table, if this were university.

The problem is, Hajime realizes, that Oikawa _is_ acting. He’s winking and complimenting the waitress’s hair and it hits Hajime square in the gut that he hasn’t seen Oikawa put on his mask because he’s already been wearing it. He’s been wearing it the whole time. With Hajime.

Hajime knows that it’s juvenile. He knows that he has no right to lay any claim to Oikawa’s “real” personality because nobody owes anybody anything, least of all vulnerability. But there’s that nagging voice in his head that tells him that this is different and different is bad, and that Oikawa has only ever let in people who are special.

Hajime remembers being special. When Oikawa turns back to Hajime and his eyes are still sparkling and he makes a coy joke and takes a sip of his coffee and the change Hajime expects never comes, he thinks that maybe he isn’t anymore. He wants to tell Oikawa to quit it, that he’s not one of his high school girlfriends, that he’s different and Oikawa should treat him differently but really…he doesn’t know. The voice in his head creeps in again and tells him that if Oikawa wanted to let him in again he would have already. It’s been weeks, the voice whispers.

“Shittykawa, don’t flirt with everyone you meet,” he says. Oikawa gives a who-me shrug, and Hajime blames his upset stomach on the coffee.

 

 

“You have too many clothes,” Hajime complains as he shoves another pile of t-shirts into a plastic tote.

“No such thing,” Oikawa tuts. He’s been wearing his hair long lately—just long enough that it fits into a hairtie and makes a little rabbit tail on the back of his head. He’s sorting a bunch of books—textbooks from university, a photo album, a bound copy of his senior thesis. Hajime tried to read it once and got as far as the first equation.

“How much can you bring?” Hajime asks. Oikawa rolls his eyes.

“Two kilos. Of anything that isn’t flammable or explosive or made of asbestos.”

“I guess I shouldn’t give you your present then,” Hajime says. Oikawa’s eyes light up before he becomes suspicious. “A six-pack of asbestos grenades.”

“Ha ha,” Oikawa drones, walking over to drop his stack of books dramatically into the tote. Hajime gets hit with a puff of air and it smells like dust. “You should go into comedy, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime finishes folding the pants next to him and puts them into the tote, tucking them up against the books. “You should be more organized when you pack,” he says.

“I’ll remember where everything is,” Oikawa huffs.

“Two whole years later?”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

“You forget what you had for breakfast.”

Oikawa sighs like he’s the most put-upon person in the history of mankind. “Sorting things is boring and unnecessary. I’ll just open everything when I get back, anyway. So I’ll find all the things I need.”

Hajime likes the ‘when’ in ‘when I get back’ better than anything else, but it’s his job to be supportive so he doesn’t mention it. Instead he tugs on Oikawa’s arm, pulling him into his lap. Oikawa squeaks and grabs Hajime’s shoulder for stability, and once he’s seated he gives Hajime a look of utter betrayal.

“Iwa-chan!”

Hajime cups Oikawa’s face and pulls him in for a kiss, slow and sweet. Oikawa relaxes into it, complaints forgotten, and Hajime’s chest swells. It’s so easy to forget, when Oikawa is within reach, that he soon won’t be. Oikawa seems to feel it too because he doesn’t pull back to give some admonishment.

“I’m going to miss you,” Hajime says when they break apart. Oikawa plays with the top of his hair, eyes focused.

“I’m not leaving yet,” he says, brushing Hajime’s hair back so it sticks up. Hajime shrugs.

“I know.”

“You don’t need to act like I am.”

“You could say ‘I’ll miss you too’ before scolding me,” Hajime suggests with a wry smile.

“So needy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. His gaze turns tender and he pats the top of Hajime’s head twice, like he’s a dog. “You know I’m going to miss you.”

“Well, now I do,” Hajime says, a bit self-satisfied. Oikawa wrinkles his nose and tries to stand, but Hajime pulls him back down again. He huffs and crosses his arms.

“Okay, I’ll just sit here, you do all the packing,” he says.

Hajime eventually relents and they get back to work. Hajime sobers up quickly when he packs a bottle full of sea shells that he and Oikawa filled on the beach in their second year of university. On top of it goes an old, broken bathroom scale that Oikawa keeps because it cuts off about three kilos, and a sleeping bag.

The next day they drive to the storage facility and start hauling the boxes and tubs into a large locker. Oikawa doesn’t want to rent a moving van so it takes them two trips to fit everything into Hajime’s father’s contractor truck.

“Before I come back you have to get all of the spiders off of my stuff,” Oikawa says as they climb back into the truck. Hajime’s shirt is sticking to him. “I don’t want to see a single spider.”

“I’ll put them all in a box and set them free in your apartment,” Hajime says. Oikawa doesn’t respond for a moment so Hajime glances over.

The look of horror that meets him is visceral. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa starts, and Hajime can’t help it—he bursts into laughter. Oikawa’s horror turns indignant. “ _Iwa-chan._ I will kill you. I will come back early from space to _murder_ you in cold blood. Don’t even joke.”

Hajime snorts and puts the key in the ignition. Once they get out onto the highway and Oikawa’s done a good bit more complaining and threatening he settles back, playing some game on his phone. Hajime’s hands are steady on the wheel.

A few minutes pass and then Oikawa’s head pops up. “Left up here,” he says. Hajime blinks and glances over at him.

“What?”

“Take a left up here.”

It’s getting to be late evening. “That’s the wrong way,” Hajime says, but as he approaches the intersection he puts on his left blinker anyway.

“Just trust me,” Oikawa says.

“I feel like that’s a dangerous idea,” Hajime says, turning left.

“Four kilometers on this road and then a right,” Oikawa says. Hajime rolls his eyes.

“Where are we going?”

“Patience, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tuts.

Hajime’s patience, it turns out, needs to carry him through almost forty minutes of driving. Oikawa turns on some music that Hajime, remarkably, doesn’t hate. The sky is already dark and the night only deepens as they drive.

Hajime misses a turn because Oikawa gives him the direction late but they make it back onto whatever route Oikawa has in mind. A soft song plays and Hajime bites the inside of his cheek before laying one of his hands palm-up on the center console. Oikawa is absorbed in his phone but after a moment Hajime feels another hand on his. Their fingers link and Oikawa gives his hand a squeeze.

Hajime smiles and glances over. Oikawa’s face is lit by the phone screen. His hair got messed up while they were moving boxes but he must have put it back into place. He looks really, really good. Hajime would never say it, but he doesn’t make himself banish the thoughts.

He doesn’t like the limbo, the waiting, but it’s also a chance for him to soak up as much of Oikawa’s attention as he can before he leaves.

“Almost there,” Oikawa announces.

“Any reason we’re in Shichigahama?” Hajime asks. The town is entirely asleep, from the look of it. They pass houses and trees. It’s almost midnight.

“Turn left,” is all that Oikawa says.

After another minute or so the trees open up and Hajime can see the moon, followed shortly by the sea.

“You can probably park up there,” Oikawa says, pointing to a patch of asphalt and a low wooden fence. The moon is a sliver in the sky, just light enough to make the sea sparkle.

“Late night swim?” Hajime asks as he releases Oikawa’s hand and shuts off the car. Oikawa shakes his head.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Late night you’re-going-to-drown-me-in-the-ocean?” Hajime tries. Oikawa snorts and opens his door.

“You’re safe for now.”

The air is cold and humid by the water. Without the headlights it’s very difficult to see the ground—when the road turns into sand Hajime is unprepared. Oikawa is still rooting around for something behind his seat, and when he emerges from the truck and slams the door shut he’s carrying something. A bottle.

“Take off your shoes,” he says. Hajime blinks.

“I’m not going to swim,” he says shortly, because it’s September. Oikawa huffs a sigh.

“We’re not swimming. You don’t want to get sand in your sneakers, do you?” He’s slipping off his own canvas shoes, the ones with black and white checkers on them, and placing them neatly together by the fence. Hajime steps out of his own shoes and socks. The sand is colder than he expects—almost freezing—under his bare feet.

Oikawa leads him out toward the water. The beach isn’t very deep—there’s maybe ten meters of sand between Hajime’s truck and the water. The tide rolls in and out lazily, catching the moonlight. Hajime swallows and his eyes are drawn to Oikawa’s back, hard to see in the darkness but clear and solid.

They reach the beginning of the wetter sand, smoothed flat by the waves, and Oikawa sits just before it, beckoning for Hajime to do the same. Hajime carefully settles himself down. The water comes in, a tiny wave breaking and foam rushing toward them. Hajime scoots back just as the water reaches them.

“Oikawa,” he warns, but Oikawa doesn’t move. The water laps at his bare feet but goes no further before retreating.

“Drink?” Oikawa asks, holding up the bottle he took from the car. Hajime squints, his eyes still adjusting.

Before he can answer Oikawa opens the bottle and takes a sip. He grimaces as he swallows but then sighs, handing the bottle over to Hajime. Hajime takes it and gives a test sniff. Sake.

“I have to drive,” he protests.

“One sip won’t hurt.”

Hajime will sooner set himself on fire than put Oikawa in danger while he’s driving so he sets the bottle down, digging it into the sand so it stays upright. “Maybe later.”

“Suit yourself,” Oikawa says, leaning back on his hands. Hajime furrows his brow.

“Are you okay?”

Oikawa shrugs and then nods. “Just thinking,” he says. Hajime purses his lips and the water rushes back, running over his feet. It’s incredibly cold and he pulls his feet back out of the danger zone.

“About leaving?”

“Maybe,” Oikawa says. “A little. Mostly not.” He looks over, eyes catching on Hajime for a moment before falling to the bottle. “Half and half.”

“So what’s the other half?” Hajime asks.

“You.”

Hajime’s chest clenches with such ferocity that he thinks he might suffocate. “Ah. I mean,” he starts, unsure if he should continue, “I’m thinking about you, so. Yeah.” He looks out at the horizon. “That doesn’t say much, I guess.” He finally lets himself look at Oikawa, who’s watching him. “Since I always am.”

Oikawa stares and then huffs out a laugh. “That was so corny,” he says. Hajime’s lip twitches in annoyance.

“I can never tell when you want to be serious or not,” he says helplessly. “I guess the answer is never.”

“I’m always serious,” Oikawa says suddenly, mirth fading as quickly as it came. “About this. You. Us.”

Hajime takes in a breath and wonders how fast he could drown. “Okay.”

Oikawa’s eyes turn back outward and he pulls the bottle from the sand to take another sip. “It’s easiest to see it in the fall,” he says.

Hajime looks at him and then follows his gaze. The sky. Of course it’s the sky.

“See what?”

Oikawa’s hand comes up and he points, like he’s done a million other times. “Libra,” he says. “It’s more than five stars but you only need to know five.” It almost looks like he’s pointing at the moon.

Hajime has no idea exactly where to look, but he tries anyway. Oikawa scoots in, so their hips are touching. He’s warm, even through his jeans. Hajime follows his finger as it moves, and for once he thinks he might be able to see what Oikawa is seeing.

“Right under it is Lupus. That one’s harder to see. Just go to the horizon. Then to the right, and that’s Centaurus.”

Hajime scans the sky. “Centaurus. Like—”

“Like Proxima Centauri, yeah,” Oikawa says, and Hajime doesn’t say that that wasn’t what he was thinking. “You can’t see most of it. It’s under the horizon. But if you find the top of Centaurus you can follow it straight down and then you…”

Oikawa takes a breath and smiles quickly, and only then does Hajime realize that he’s been looking at Oikawa’s face instead of the stars. He can’t have been doing it for too long but he doesn’t want to look back. “Then you get to Alpha Centauri. You can’t see it where we are. It’s a southern star.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That’s where I’ll be.”

Hajime’s eyes snap back out to the horizon, wide. “Where?” he asks.

Oikawa points again. Libra, to Lupus, to Centaurus, to the water. Hajime’s jaw clenches and he can’t figure out what he’s feeling. Whatever it is, it’s sudden and strong and he doesn’t like it.

 _That’s where I’ll be_. Like it’s a place that Hajime can see. Like Hajime can find him on a map. He’ll be out in the sky, beyond the sky, and it hits Hajime all at once, like he’s been punched. When Hajime pictures space he thinks of stars and Hubble pictures of galaxies and diagrams of the solar system. It isn’t a place. It’s an idea. In two weeks Oikawa is disappearing into an idea.

But _this_ , when there’s a spot in the sky that Hajime can look to and _that’s where I’ll be_ , it becomes real in a way that is discomfiting and strange. It’s too vast. Hajime pulls his eyes away and watches the water instead.

“Are you okay?”

Hajime nods and tries to shake the feeling. “Fine.” He grimaces and then reaches for the bottle of sake, taking a large enough sip that it fills his mouth. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says. He takes in a thick breath and a smile comes out with it. “Yeah.” And this time it’s so warm, so full.

“Then I am too,” Hajime says. There’s a moment where his words hang in the cold air and then Oikawa clears his throat.

“I think I love you,” he says. Hajime freezes.

“You think?”

Oikawa shoots Hajime a harassed look and shoves him with his shoulder. “I do. I love you.”

Hajime thinks the stars can go fuck themselves. He smiles and knows he must look so dumb. “I love you too. You knew that.”

“Everyone loves me,” Oikawa shrugs glibly. Hajime wrinkles his nose.

“But you don’t love everyone else,” he says, a bit smugly, and he leans over. Oikawa meets him for a hard kiss.

“No,” Oikawa says against his lips. “I don’t.”

They sit on the sand until Oikawa gets too cold and he complains, shivering. Hajime has more of the sake even though he knows it’s a bad idea, but it warms him. Not as much as the way Oikawa’s collarbone feels under his lips or the sound that Oikawa makes when Hajime thumbs over a nipple through his shirt.

Oikawa leads him back to Hajime’s truck, but when they get there he opens the back door instead of the passenger. He sits back on the bench seat, leaning on his elbows and watching Hajime.

“What—” Hajime starts, but then Oikawa reaches out his hand.

“Come here,” he says, and the look in his eyes, even in the dark, makes Hajime shiver more than the cold.

Hajime crawls over him and closes the door behind them, and the moment he’s all the way inside Oikawa pulls him down for a deep, urgent kiss. Hajime sucks in a breath through his nose and presses down, straddling Oikawa’s legs on the narrow seat and kissing him like he’s never going to get another chance.

After a moment he pulls back and reaches over the front seat to turn the car on. He puts the heat on high and then returns to Oikawa’s arms. At some point they both lose their pants and Hajime finds himself on his back, gasping into Oikawa’s mouth and pushing his hips up into the hand stroking him underneath his boxers.

Oikawa’s been training and his body shows it. Hajime doesn’t think—he doesn’t want to think—so he just lets himself feel instead. He feels Oikawa’s mouth slide against his, sloppier and broken with high sounds and heavy breaths, Oikawa’s arms bracketing his head as his hair falls into his face. Oikawa’s fingers and then his hips meeting Hajime’s, with an urgency he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager, until they finish with staggered gasps and the kisses turn slow and deep. Hajime wants to tell Oikawa so many things, that he loves him, that he doesn’t want him to go, that he wants them to stay together as long as they can.

He has a blanket in the truck so they decide to sleep there. Hajime’s head rests on Oikawa’s arm and he lets himself believe for a moment that it can always be like this. Oikawa runs a hand through his hair and when he looks up Oikawa’s eyes are up, out the window, toward the sky. Hajime curls tighter into Oikawa’s bare chest and knows that this isn’t one he’s going to win, no matter how good he is. He feels each of Oikawa’s breaths, and they relax him like nothing else can.

Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s not.

 

 

The train station is past Hajime’s apartment so Oikawa walks with him. The weather is starting to cool, just enough that Hajime brought along a jacket to ward off the night air. Oikawa has his hands in his pockets and there’s a pleasant silence between them; the occasional car passing is the only sound.

It’s pleasant and comfortable but Hajime still squirms, eyes darting over to look at Oikawa’s face as he walks. Every inch of his body wants something and he doesn’t know what it is or how to get it. He wishes the air was colder—it might help him think.

He sees his apartment approaching and tries to gather up the courage in his chest—it used to come so easily when it came to Oikawa, but now it seems harder.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” he asks casually. Oikawa looks up in thought.

“No. I don’t think so. I mean, I have to go shopping at some point, but other than that…” he says, shrugging. “Why?”

They reach Hajime’s building and slow to a stop in front of the door. Hajime sighs and tries to pretend that he’s not nervous. “Do you want to come up?” he asks, hoping he sounds normal.

Oikawa pauses. Looks at him. He makes eye contact and holds it and wonders if it just got colder outside, because he wants to shiver. Oikawa opens his mouth and then glances at the building. Hajime can see words forming on his tongue and feels like he knows what they’ll be.

“I need to…I should probably get some sleep,” Oikawa says, looking around quickly before letting his eyes meet Hajime’s. He smiles apologetically, whatever hesitation he had before gone. It’s not a real smile—Hajime can see that. It’s one of his smile-because-you-have-to-s, his smile-to-smooth-a-situation-over-s.

But it’s been weeks and weeks and he’s seen Oikawa almost every other day and it still feels like they’re just acquaintances. When he thinks about it he can remember going over to Oikawa’s house uninvited, sleeping in the same bed, going on adventures and going to the same high school because they didn’t want to be without each other and kissing in his new apartment their first year of university and doing _more_ than kissing in his new apartment their first year of university and helping him pack to go into fucking outer space. So he doesn’t let the fake smile go, because if he wants things to be like they used to be he needs to act like he used to, too.

“Do you actually not want to?” he asks. Oikawa looks like he doesn’t understand the question.

“I mean, I don’t…” he starts, but Hajime shakes his head.

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to,” he says. “If you really don’t. But…” he pauses, hands clenching and then releasing in his pockets, “…it just feels like…” He knows what he wants to say but doesn’t know how to make it sound less needy. Maybe he doesn’t need to. “All we do is get dinner, or coffee, or something,” he finally starts. “Which is fine, but that’s all it _ever_ is. And sometimes I can’t really tell if you want to be doing it. I _think_ you do.”

“I do,” Oikawa says quickly.

“We used to be a lot…closer,” Hajime says, and it feels dumb to say because of course Oikawa knows that; he was there. “And yeah, it’s been a while, but it’s not like we don’t like each other, right? So I just don’t…” he sighs, “…I don’t get it.” He gives a little fake smile of his own and shrugs.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, “I don’t want to _rush_ anything…” Hajime’s eyes widen.

“I’m not _propositioning_ you,” he says. “There’s no ulterior motive. I just want to hang out.” His mouth makes a flat line and he decides that sounding needy might happen no matter what. “Anything, really. More than this.”

Oikawa looks at Hajime a bit helplessly. “Iwa-chan,” he says.

“You don’t have to. If you want we can just keep getting dinner, or we can stop that too, or whatever, it’s all okay. But just _tell_ me.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Oikawa says immediately. “I always want to spend time with you.”

“Then why don’t we?” Hajime asks.

Oikawa is silent for a moment, and then he looks down at his feet. “I don’t want to make any assumptions,” he finally says.

“Assumptions.”

Someone walks by and Hajime doesn’t want their conversation broadcast to the world so he steps a little closer. Oikawa glances up at the movement. “You said you’d wait,” he says. “Do you remember? And I said I didn’t want you to, but you said you would.”

Hajime looks around the street and purses his lips. “Can we talk about this inside?”

Oikawa glances back up at the building and nods slowly. There’s something in his eyes and Hajime wants to see what it is in the light, closer, not in the strange limbo of when-should-I-go-home in which conversations outside of doorways live. He gets the urge to reach for Oikawa’s hand but doesn’t.

“When did you move?” Oikawa asks lightly as they enter the elevator.

“When I got the job here,” Hajime says. “I have to be at the school at seven so I figured I should live a little closer.”

Oikawa hums in understanding and the elevator brings them up to the tenth floor. Hajime’s apartment isn’t especially clean but he’s a minimalist by nature so there’s not that much stuff to make a mess with. Oikawa sits on his couch and he comes out with two cups of tea.

Oikawa is reading the back of a book on Hajime’s coffee table. Hajime doesn’t remember which one it is—he was probably reading it before Oikawa landed. He sets the tea down on the table and Oikawa looks up at him, a little smile on his face.

“You don’t like astronomy,” he says, setting the book back down. Carl Sagan’s name stares up at Hajime.

“Yeah, well,” he says as he sits. “I gotta keep up somehow, right? I can barely understand you when you talk as is.”

Oikawa wrinkles his nose and flicks Hajime’s knee. “Rude. I’m very articulate.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Ugh!” Oikawa huffs and rolls his eyes, shoving Hajime’s arm. Hajime pushes down a smile, because this is something he knows how to do. This is a type of interaction he’s used to. “It’s a good book,” Oikawa says.

“You’ve read it?”

Oikawa looks at Hajime like it’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “I think I lent you this copy.”

Hajime’s eyes dart to the book and he furrows his brow. “You know, probably.” He picks up the book and flips open the front cover. There, in small, neat handwriting on the bottom of the inside of the cover, is Oikawa’s name. He hadn’t even noticed. His chest clenches and he sets the book back down. He stares at it for a moment and then sighs. “I didn’t wait, you know. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Oikawa picks up his tea and takes a small sip. It’s probably still too hot. “Good.”

“I had a boyfriend,” Hajime continues, though he doesn’t know why. “Three years. We almost moved in together.”

It’s true. Maybe for the first year Hajime wasn’t interested in seeing anyone else, but after a while he started dating. Shigeru was so similar to Oikawa in so many ways, but he was different in so many more. He returned teasing without batting an eye instead of being haughty and defensive, he made wry jokes that Hajime laughed at, he was willing to compromise. _“You look really good”_ wasn’t followed by _“for a bridge troll.”_ He was nicer than Oikawa but just as sharp. He was probably more mature. He was a better person, maybe.

The fact that Hajime can only think of him by comparing him to Oikawa tells him everything he needs to know.

Oikawa’s face does something strange. “Congrats.”

“We’re not…it’s been over for a while,” Hajime says. He takes his own tea and just holds it, feeling the warmth in his hands. “So I didn’t…if you were worried about me waiting for you and being _disappointed_ or something then no, I didn’t wait.”

“You really liked him?” Oikawa asks, and it’s with such an unreadable tone that Hajime isn’t sure what the right answer is.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

Hajime sees where this is going now and he stretches out his legs, slouching a little on the couch. “He was great. I broke up with him, though.” He plays with the uneven surface of the mug. “Because you were coming back.”

Oikawa’s head whips around, eyes wide. “Iwa-chan,” he starts, fear coloring his voice. Hajime shakes his head and shrugs.

“Maybe I phrased that wrong. I broke up with him because he was too nice to break up with me,” Hajime says. He laughs a little to himself. “I was a shitty boyfriend. I couldn’t stop wondering what I’d do when you got back. He didn’t deserve it. The comparison.”

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa starts, and then he huffs angrily. “ _Hajime_ , you’re an idiot.”

“Probably,” Hajime says, pretending that hearing his given name from Oikawa’s mouth doesn’t make him happy. “You weren’t around to tell me whether I should get over you or not.”

Oikawa takes in a surprisingly shaky breath and Hajime looks up at him. He isn’t crying, thank goodness, but is face is pinched in a weird, uncomfortable way. His jaw works under the skin and then he closes his eyes.

“I thought you might have already,” he says.

“What?”

Oikawa takes another, longer sip of tea. “It’s easy to wait for two years,” he says. “And you’re so focused because you’re doing experiments and trying to keep the vessel running. Time doesn’t matter so much.” He makes an attempt at putting his mask back on, leaning back more casually and shrugging like he doesn’t actually care when every muscle in his body is pulling in a way that shows he does. “But you’re…eight years is more than enough time to fall out of…whatever.” He gestures vaguely.

“Love,” Hajime says, because Oikawa’s unwillingness to make _‘assumptions’_ is getting annoying. Oikawa’s shoulders betray his tension. “And I didn’t. Or if I did I got it back. Is _that_ what you were worried about?”

Oikawa is looking resolutely anywhere that isn’t Hajime. “Eight years is a long time. Things change.”

“Yeah, and I think it’s pretty impressive that I loved you in the first place so I deserve some extra credit for keeping it up,” Hajime says, and Oikawa laughs, half out of surprise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “I’m incredibly lovable. I have to pay people _not_ to love me.”

“Never mind, hate you again,” Hajime says. Oikawa shakes his head.

“Nope! No take-backs!”

“Where was this confidence thirty seconds ago?”

Oikawa preens. “It was all a clever ploy to get a confession out of you,” he says flippantly.

Hajime knows he could take the bait, keep up the banter, settle back into the comfortable back-and-forth. It would be easy, the words already forming on his tongue. But he can also see that a door is open, just a crack, somewhere in Oikawa’s face. He pats his leg instead.

Oikawa stares at him and he gestures for Oikawa to move closer. Nothing. After a moment of confusion Oikawa’s eyes narrow.

“Do you want me to sit on your lap?”

Hajime grimaces and shakes his head. “No. Just your head.” He doesn’t know if he’s being too forward, or if that even matters because it’s _Oikawa_ , and he needs to stop psyching himself out. “If you want.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen and then he’s there in a flash, on his back on the couch with his head resting on Hajime’s thigh. He looks up at Hajime and then wiggles a little, trying to find a comfortable position.

“You should work out more,” he says cheekily. “Your leg’s all squishy.”

“Fuck you,” Hajime says as his hands settle back down. One rests on Oikawa’s chest and the other finds its way into his hair. Oikawa sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

“You’re being so nice today,” he says. “Almost makes me feel bad.”

“You don’t need to force a confession out of me,” Hajime says, ignoring Oikawa’s provocation. Oikawa’s eyes open and he looks up at Hajime curiously. Hajime runs his fingers through Oikawa’s hair and it’s still as soft as he remembers. “The one I gave when we were third years still holds.”

Oikawa’s lips twitch and Hajime can see the smile he’s trying to push down, because he knows he remembers. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“You benefit from it, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

Oikawa hums and closes his eyes again. Hajime brushes back his bangs and lets them fall through his fingers. “I’m not complaining. I just wish I knew how to get nice Iwa-chan every day.”

“For that,” Hajime says, “You’d have to see me every day.”

“Mmmm…that’s a hard one,” Oikawa says. “I’ll see if I can fit you into my schedule.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “You’re just so busy. Buying groceries, sleeping. Going to shelters to look at cats you’re not going to adopt.”

Oikawa gasps. “I am a busy person!”

Hajime looks down at Oikawa and there’s something about his face that makes his stomach clench in a beautiful way. “Too busy?”

Oikawa looks back up at him and places his own hand over Hajime’s, the one resting on Oikawa’s chest. “I guess,” he sighs, “I’ll have to make room.” He hesitates then. “If you’re serious.”

Hajime nods, and he knows that Oikawa knows that he’d never joke about something like this. Oikawa smiles anyway and then he sits up, Hajime’s hand falling from his hair. He leans over, a hand bracing himself on the arm of the couch on Hajime’s other side, and kisses him, as simple as that.

Hajime didn’t think of Oikawa every day. He went months where work and friends and life demanded his attention, and he forgot. But he thinks to himself, with Oikawa’s breath warm on his face and the kiss so soft, so ephemeral, that he never really fell out of love. Oikawa pulls away so slowly that Hajime can’t pinpoint the moment where their lips aren’t touching anymore. He thinks that he sent his love into space with Oikawa, a stowaway on a crowded shuttle, and now it’s back, two years older and changed but just as strong. Oikawa giggles.

“I’m glad,” he whispers, and it’s not in response to anything but Hajime knows exactly what he means.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Oikawa shows up at Hajime’s door at eleven in the morning with two cups of coffee and a bag of various pastries.

The past couple of months have been a learning experience—Hajime thinks of it more as a _re-_ learning experience, because he doesn’t think anything about Oikawa could ever really be forgotten. Not by him, anyway. But he’s having to get used to Oikawa’s mannerisms again, to reading his face to see if he’s being serious, to his voice.

“I have been awake since six-thirty and I’m not happy about it,” Oikawa complains, making a beeline for the kitchen when Hajime opens the door and plopping into a chair. “They only needed me for like twenty minutes of filming and made me wait around for an hour just for that.”

“That sounds terrible,” Hajime drawls. “It’s so hard being popular.”

“It is!” Oikawa sighs with no self-awareness, throwing his hands up. “I don’t even know why they need me—this is for shoes! Do you know what you don’t wear in space? Shoes.”

“You don’t wear shoes?” Hajime asks, leaning against the counter next to Oikawa. Oikawa gives him a tired look and reaches into the bag for the pastries.

“I guess when you’re in the microgravity rotor you _could_ , but we didn’t. I should be selling socks, honestly. I had some amazing socks.”

“I bet you did,” Hajime says, leaning in for a kiss. Oikawa pecks him softly and then sighs. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Oikawa replies lightly, giving Hajime one of the smiles that makes him melt. He clears his throat and sits.

It’s easy and low-pressure and Hajime eats up every second of it. Halfway into a bean bun Oikawa launches into another tirade about the director of the commercial he’d filmed this morning. Apparently she kept wanting him to make awful space puns, all but one of which Oikawa had refused to say.

“So which one did you pick?” Hajime asks, peeking up innocently as he takes a sip of his coffee. Oikawa eyes him suspiciously.

“None of your business.”

“I have to know which one you decided was good enough.”

“You’ll see it in the commercial. Which I forbid you from watching! So never mind, you’ll never know.”

“I’m so curious, though,” Hajime continues. “Which pun passed muster? You have the best sense of humor in the world so I have to know which one you approve of.”

“Never. Never! I see through your games!” Oikawa shakes his head. “New subject. What are you doing today?”

“Heel-ix nebula?” Hajime muses to himself. Oikawa squeaks. “Space lace. No, that’s just a rhyme. Do the shoes help you run at the speed of light?”

“Stop!” Oikawa commands, covering his ears.

Hajime taps Oikawa lightly on the arm. Oikawa shoots him a wary look. “I’m done,” Hajime mouths. After a moment Oikawa takes his hands away from his ears and watches Hajime like he’s an animal being hunted.

“You’d better be,” he says.

“I am.” Hajime leans back in his chair and links his hands across his chest. “Do you want to come down to the community center with me today?”

Oikawa finishes his coffee. “What for?”

“Volleyball,” Hajime says. “We’re doing a scrimmage with one of the neighborhood teams.”

Oikawa shoots him a look. “I haven’t played volleyball for thirteen years, Iwa-chan.”

“You don’t have to play. You could just watch. If you want.” Hajime shrugs. “I just thought it would be fun for you to be there.”

“Sure,” Oikawa says. “I’ll grace you with my presence.”

“Oh, thank you,” Hajime says. “I know you’re so hard to book.”

“I am very busy!” Oikawa says. “You wouldn’t understand. But I guess I can make some time in my _busy_ schedule for volleyball. Only if you win, though.”

“We’re going to win,” Hajime says, because he’s pretty sure it’s true. “Do you want to spend the night too?”

Oikawa’s eyes flick to Hajime’s and there’s a bit of honest happiness in them before he covers it up with a self-conscious shrug. “Straight from volleyball to the bedroom, huh? So scandalous, Iwa-chan.”

“Is that a yes?”

Oikawa smiles. “Maybe it’s for the best. You don’t know how hot and bothered I might get watching you play.”

Hajime wiggles his shoulders in mock seduction and then beckons for Oikawa to move closer. Oikawa does, and Hajime leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Sole-ar system,” he says. Oikawa recoils like he’s been slapped and kicks at Hajime’s chair, almost knocking it over.

“Stop it!” he cries. “I’m never telling you anything ever again!”

Hajime’s tipped out of his chair but he gets to give Oikawa a smug look. “So I’m right.”

“No comment!”

“I’m right.”

“No! Comment!”

 

 

Oikawa is a very enthusiastic cheerleader, and Hajime can hear his teammates snicker every time Oikawa calls something to the effect of “Iwa-chan, the volleyball god!” When he glances over Oikawa’s sitting primly in his chair, giving him an exaggerated wink. When he hits the ball in there’s a cheer and when he squares up to serve Oikawa sends him a suggestive whistle.

It’s nearing the end of the game and the cheers have died down. The ball smacks into the hardwood and Hajime lands with a satisfied nod. His teammates give a perfunctory high five and they square up for the next serve. Match point. Hajime glances over to the sidelines. Oikawa’s water bottle is on his chair but Oikawa is nowhere to be seen. Hajime turns his attention back to the game just as the serve sails over the net and someone on the back row of the other team picks it up.

Up, over, one of the outside hitters on Hajime’s side catches the other team’s spike and it pops back. The setter manages to get under it and before Hajime can see it they do a quick setup into a feint. The other team’s libero dives and gets the ball into the air but it’s off, and the guy who runs for it when it sails off of the court misses by a hair.

That’s the game. Hajime wipes at his face with his shirt and his team goes in for a quick hug. His eyes dart back to Oikawa’s chair. Still nothing. He knows intellectually that nothing’s wrong. Maybe Oikawa’s in the bathroom. He wouldn’t have left for no reason.

It’s an unofficial neighborhood game so all they do to close it out is high-five under the net, and then Hajime jogs out into the hallway. It’s much cooler than the gym, more pleasant even if it does smell faintly like the pool in the basement.

“Oikawa?” Hajime calls. A little girl carrying a gym bag passes with her mother.

There’s a moment of silence and then Hajime hears voice around the corner. Low, hurried. Oikawa.

Hajime wanders over and as he turns he sees Oikawa standing by the wall with his phone pressed to his ear, a hand over his mouth and his eyes wide. Oikawa sees him and waves a little before turning his attention back to his phone.

“Yeah, of course,” he says all in a rush, and it’s odd hearing Oikawa sounding so amazed and sincere. “I…definitely! Okay. Thank you so much. I’ll keep an ear out.”

He’s smiling so brilliantly that Hajime thinks he might need to look away before he’s blinded. Hajime smiles too, despite himself. “What’s up?” he whispers. Oikawa holds up a finger.

“I’m home in Sendai—no, I can head into Tokyo any time. Of course.”

He talks for about another minute before he gives the person on the other end a barrage of variations on “thank you” and hangs up. When he looks up to meet Hajime’s eyes he’s glowing.

“How was the game?” he asks. “Sorry I missed the end.”

“Fine. We won. What was the call?”

Oikawa tries unsuccessfully to stuff down his grin. He looks like he’s ready to burst. “I’ve been optioned for the Stage Two mission.”

Hajime blinks at him, smile lingering on his face. “What does that mean?”

“I’m on the shortlist for people they might want to send…” Oikawa laughs in wonder and closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s neck, “…send back up.”

Hajime’s smile fades and his hands come reflexively to Oikawa’s waist. “Oh, wow,” he starts, hoping he sounds enthusiastic. “That’s amazing.”

“If I want to be considered for the Stage Three mission I have to be a part of this one—they’re putting together a long-term crew for both. For the _Proxima_ mission! Oh my god, you’re so sweaty!” He giggles and doesn’t retract his embrace.

“That’s the star, right?” Hajime asks. Oikawa grins and nods. Hajime isn’t sure when his heart started speeding up but he elects to ignore it. “That’s so far.”

“I mean, it isn’t confirmed,” Oikawa says. Hajime hears footsteps down the hall so he guides them to an alcove so they won’t be seen. “I have a leg up since I was on the Stage One crew but honestly there are a bunch of really good new astronauts and trainees so nothing’s guaranteed, but…” He suddenly grabs Hajime by the sides of his face and kisses him hard. Hajime makes a small surprised sound before returning the kiss. “I could…this is the biggest series of exploration missions of the _century_ , and I could be on all three. _Me._ ”

Hajime’s always proud of Oikawa, proud to know him, to watch him do what he’s good at, to be trusted by him. So he smiles and nods along and tries to sound very casual when he asks: “How long is this one?”

Oikawa’s eyes search Hajime’s and he pulls back a little, sobering up just a little. He swallows, his mouth not quite ready to give up on the smile yet. “Five years.”

Okay. Hajime takes a deep breath, willing his stomach to settle. Five years is a long time but not unmanageable. He made it eight. There’s no telling how soon this second stage will even be, and he can make the most of the time they have before that. Training for these things takes a long time, he thinks. Oikawa will probably get the position—things come to him like that. Hajime’s thoughts are a wild mess. He nods. He’s overwhelmed but his brain is already in hyper-speed rationalization mode. Five years. He can do that.

Oikawa must see something in his stare because his giddy look is almost entirely gone now. He looks down and shrugs lightly. “Five years… _space_ time. Two and a half out, two and a half back.” Hajime’s eyes widen and he comes to the realization just as Oikawa voices it. “Twenty years Earth time. Approximately.”

Hajime doesn’t even pretend to be smiling anymore. He blinks and his eyes flick all over Oikawa’s face and though he wants to speak he doesn’t know what he’d say. He’s sure that he heard Oikawa wrong but to clarify would be to show disappointment, and the hopeful glimmer in Oikawa’s eyes tells him he can’t do that.

“This is incredible,” he says instead. “Congratulations.”

And he _means_ it. He really does. He thinks his face is probably cooperating with him for once because Oikawa pulls him into a tight hug. He returns it and hopes that once the adrenaline wears off he’ll get feeling back to his fingertips.

He could do five years. He already did eight. He imagines twenty years of watching the sky, alone.

 

 

The beach looks exactly the same, in the dark. It had been covered with footsteps in the sand a year ago but now it’s clear, sand swept flat by the wind. It’s dark as well, a nice new moon that makes the stars burst out of the sky but makes Hajime’s footing unsteady. He wanders across the sand with the light of his phone and Hanamaki’s distant car.

His stomach hurts, twisting with anxiety. It’s hurt ever since they left Sendai, since he could see the ocean out the car window. Hanamaki, sensing the mood, put on some pop station and blasted it, too loud for them to have a conversation. He’s sitting in the car now, reading some book, because this is ‘yours and Oikawa’s thing and my neck hurts when I look up too long.’

When Hajime reaches the wet sand he pauses. It’s hard to see where the water begins but he can hear it, a rush in the distance and a small swish in front of him. After a moment he slips off his shoes and reaches down to roll up his pants.

The city glows to his left but the sky is sharp and bright, and Hajime feels the depth of it like he’s not sure he ever has. When his toes hit water it’s shockingly cold but he continues forward, wading until the tide is brushing his calves.

South, on the horizon. There are a million stars, a billion, a higher number than Hajime could ever be able to count. Maybe he can only see a few thousand. This is the time where Oikawa would speak up, give him facts. That one belongs to this constellation, it’s the fifty-eighth brightest star, it’s a white dwarf binary system and it’s named after so-and-so.

All Hajime sees are dots, white, glittering but only faintly. Libra points to Hydra, Oikawa says in his mind. Hydra leads to Centaurus. Centaurus hides behind the horizon so find its back and follow the line down and there I’ll be.

Hajime tries, the wind seizing the hem of his shirt and fluttering over his stomach, chilling him. He finds the brighter stars and connects the dots but he’s not _sure_ , and it drives him crazy.

There’s a star map app on his phone that he finally decides to open. He tries to match the dots on the screen to the sky. It was so easy when Oikawa was pointing to them, when Hajime could put his head right next to Oikawa’s and see what he was seeing. He could try to look at the sky the way Oikawa did, with wonder and curiosity instead of apprehension.

He finds the constellation. A few of the stars are visible, and the sun is long-enough set that the horizon isn’t too bright. He traces the line down, below the sea. Around the Earth and into the sky. Oikawa. Moving so incredibly fast that Hajime wouldn’t be able to see it.

Hajime wants it to mean more to him, but it doesn’t. He looks at the water, only the presence or absence of stars telling him where it begins, and no amount of imagining makes it the same as looking at the sky. He can’t put himself that far away from Earth, not even in his mind—he’s stuck. He doesn’t want the wonder of the universe. He wants Oikawa’s face and his hands and his voice. He wants to wake up too hot because Oikawa’s pressed against his side. He wants annoying laughter and a body on top of his and someone to call during his lunch break because he’s bored.

It doesn’t make him cry; he’s done with crying about it. But it aches in a place so deep inside him he didn’t know it existed. He remembers putting his hand on top of Oikawa’s in the sand and mouthing at the skin behind Oikawa’s ear and listening to Oikawa’s tiny noises as he watches the stars. Maybe that’s why he can’t remember the constellations.

After a minute more in the cool breeze Hajime pockets his phone and turns away from the water. He came here to try to feel closer to Oikawa, but he doesn’t feel any different. Hanamaki is waiting in the car and when he opens the passenger door there’s already a key in the ignition.

“Do what you came to do?” Hanamaki asks. Hajime shrugs and nods, trying to wipe the sand off of his feet and placing his shoes on the floor.

“I tried.”

They start back toward the city and Hajime watches the sky pass through the trees. To Oikawa the universe is vast and profound. When Oikawa is with him Hajime feels like he might be able to taste some of that, the awe and majesty of incredible distance and unimaginable size. But now, without Oikawa, Hajime thinks it just looks black.

He doesn’t go back to Shichigahama the next year.

 

 

Hajime opens his eyes and glances over at the clock on his bedside table. Almost six o’clock. It’s just starting to get light outside but it’s a Sunday so there’s enough time to fall asleep again. Hajime rolls over onto his other side and settles back down onto his pillow.

Next to him, now in front of him, Oikawa stirs at the movement. He stretches his legs out and lets out a soft sigh. His hair is all over the place and in the very early morning light it looks so soft that Hajime has to reach out and run his hand gingerly through it. Oikawa shifts again and then his eyes open, just a tiny bit.

He looks up at Hajime blearily and then smiles, soft and sleepy and open. Hajime doesn’t know how to explain the emotions that run through him so he doesn’t bother. He wraps an arm around Oikawa and pulls him closer. Oikawa hums hoarsely and twines their legs together, a little bit sweaty and way too hot.

Oikawa’s head tucks neatly under Hajime’s chin. He took a shower right before bed so he smells like faint soap and sleep. Hajime’s fingers trail absently across the back of Oikawa’s neck and around his shoulder blades through his oversized t-shirt. Oikawa’s breaths even out and Hajime can feel them against his collarbone.

It’s easy to forget that Oikawa is taller than Hajime, that his hands are bigger and his arms are longer. He’s so small like this, wrapped up and warm and safe. Hajime’s chest swells and he lets out the overwhelming feeling with a breath, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in Oikawa’s hair.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs sleepily.

“Hm?”

“I can’t breathe.”

Hajime grimaces self-consciously and relaxes his grip a little. Oikawa sighs and nestles into the embrace, too bony and too big but somehow just right, like a baby deer. Maybe. Hajime huffs out a small laugh at the image and presses a soft kiss to the top of Oikawa’s head before he rests back on the pillow and falls asleep again with a small smile.

Hajime has been doing a very good job of pretending that he’s not stuck in limbo for the month since the call came, when there’s no news and he keeps imagining the worst. He’s not even sure what the worst would be—every time he thinks about Oikawa leaving again his chest tightens and he immediately has to think about something else, but the thought of Oikawa’s disappointment at _not_ getting the position is almost as bad.

But for the moment nothing is happening and Hajime can try to let himself be happy. He _is_ happy. He finally works up to saying _I love you_ again, and Oikawa squeaks a little before returning it.

Oikawa has, for the most part, readjusted to life on Earth, but there are still the moments where he seems to have a lapse in memory. Once he goes to read something on the table and, requiring both hands, reaches out and just drops his cup on the ground. There’s a moment of silence where Oikawa stares at the cup and Hajime stares at Oikawa, and then he nods slowly.

“It would usually…stay there,” he murmurs and Hajime snorts.

Life becomes so normal that Hajime almost forgets the threat looming above his head, and when he sees the letter on his kitchen counter he almost doesn’t look at it twice. He left early that morning for work and by the time he got back from the school Oikawa was gone. Home, presumably, which was why it’s odd that a pile of papers clearly belonging to him are sitting in Hajime’s kitchen. Mail, no less.

Including an opened envelope with a big JAXA logo on it.

Hajime knows he shouldn’t look, because it isn’t his mail, but Oikawa isn’t there and he’s been struck with a sudden, deep curiosity. The envelope is thick and has already been ripped open. Read. Hajime sets down his bag and lifts the letter.

There are a bunch of folded papers inside, so Hajime picks the first one. He opens it and flattens it on the counter.

It’s in English, and Hajime can only make out some small parts of it. It’s a long, dense letter, filled with bullet points and times and subheadings. He so rarely sees Oikawa use it that he forgets that he’s pretty much fluent in English. He had to be, with an international crew and the mission mostly run from NASA. He probably also knows some Russian, if Hajime thinks about it. Oikawa doesn’t talk about that very much.

Hajime takes out another paper, this one orange. More English. Some sort of table.

The third paper he takes from the envelope is in Japanese, finally, and the anxiety that has been rising in Hajime’s gut shoots up into his throat and he coughs.

 _You have been_ —and he has to stop reading for a moment— _selected for—_ and oh god this is it— _placement on the—_

Hajime puts down the paper hard so quickly he thinks he might have ripped it, but his ears might also be ringing so he’s not sure. Okay. It’s okay. Of course Oikawa would have been selected. There was never any doubt that he’d be on their shortlist. Why would they have sent a paper letter? Hajime stares at the paper on the counter and tried to rationalize. It wouldn’t be fake. Oikawa has obviously read it already, and if it were fake he would have thrown it away.

It’s dated to a week and a half ago, and even with post delays it probably only arrived a few days later. Oikawa hasn’t mentioned anything, which probably means that he’s trying to find a way to break the news gently, which means that he’s going to accept the offer. Of course he would accept. This is his dream. Hajime nods to himself and steadies his breaths. This is Oikawa’s big adventure. Hajime doesn’t factor into it. He shouldn’t factor into it. It isn’t his life.

He has a sudden image of when the first notice came for Oikawa, ten years ago. He remembers Oikawa buzzing with excitement in the middle of a mall and picking Hajime up (knocking the wind out of him) and laughing so hard he cried. He remembers being just as excited. He remembers thinking that they were still young and eight years wasn’t very long at all. A little longer than high school and university combined, was what he’d told himself. Totally doable.

This time Oikawa hasn’t told him, at least not yet. And even though he knows he isn’t entitled to anything it still hurts, because he knows that Oikawa is sparing his feelings. He doesn’t want Oikawa to be considering his feelings at all. He wants Oikawa to be excited because this is everything to him.

No, that isn’t true. Hajime pulls himself together and skims the rest of the letter. He’s selfish, he thinks, because no matter how hard he tries he can’t muster the same excitement he had when they were younger. All that he sees when he looks at the words is the number twenty. Twenty years at _least_ , and with the third mission it’d be more like fifty.

He tries not to look at the letter like Oikawa is leaving forever, but that’s sort of what it means.

Deep down Hajime knows he was on borrowed time. From the moment Oikawa got the phone call. From the moment he stepped out of the shuttle. From the moment he was selected for the Stage One mission. From the moment he got his pilot license in university. From the moment he started pointing to the stars and telling Hajime what they were.

Hajime hasn’t left the denial stage so it’s not particularly hard for him to pull out his phone and text Oikawa. This is a big deal. They should celebrate. Once he’s messaged Oikawa he calls in to make a reservation at a nice restaurant about twenty minutes away. His voice doesn’t shake when he’s on the phone.

 

 

“So what’s the occasion?” Oikawa looks up from his phone and chirps as Hajime approaches the restaurant. Hajime shrugs.

“Just felt like it,” he lies. “Come on. We might be a little bit early but let’s see if they’re ready anyway.”

“Spontaneous dates,” Oikawa coos. “So romantic.”

“That’s what I aim for,” Hajime says, hands stuffed in his pockets.

The restaurant is fairly busy for the time of day, but it’s not really fine dining so it’s not unmanageable. Oikawa’s talking about something that happened to him in a convenience store today, and Hajime is paying enough attention to grunt at the appropriate times.

It’s taking everything in him to muster up some attempt at cheerfulness, and he hopes that it seems convincing enough. The way Oikawa is chattering on tells him it’s enough.

They order food. He teases Oikawa and Oikawa kicks at him under the table. Oikawa makes eyes at the waiter and Hajime studies the menu carefully. When the food comes Oikawa takes a picture of it, as usual, and Hajime makes fun of him for it. As usual. It’s normal, Hajime thinks. Nice and normal.

“You’ve been acting weird all evening,” Oikawa says cautiously. Hajime’s lips purse and he tries to smile down at his food. Apparently not.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Eat.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa presses. Hajime gives him an innocent look, a question. Oikawa narrows his eyes and then looks down at his own plate. “Fine. I’m glad you’re fine.”

“How was your day?” Hajime asks. Oikawa’s watching him, he can tell. His voice sounds weird to his own ears.

“ _Fine_ ,” Oikawa says. Hajime flinches.

“I’m really okay,” he says. “Sorry.” He takes a bite of his rice and smiles.

Oikawa does not look convinced. “You take me out to dinner and then you’re silent the whole time,” he says. “Should I be expecting some sort of speech?”

“No,” Hajime tries to laugh. “I’m just tired.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chides. “When have you _once_ accepted that as an excuse from me?”

Hajime sighs and then nods. “Okay, you got me. I wanted to congratulate you,” he says. Oikawa blinks and then his eyes blow comically wide. Immediately he’s sitting up straighter.

“Hajime—shit.”

“It’s a really big deal,” Hajime says and when he smiles this time he feels like he almost means it. He doesn’t like the look on Oikawa’s face. This wasn’t meant to be a _gotcha_. He doesn’t want to Oikawa to feel bad about it.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, eyes flicking over Hajime’s face desperately. “I was going to tell you.”

“It’s okay,” Hajime says. “I’m sorry, I did some snooping.”

Oikawa looks like he’s been dropped in the arctic, underdressed and unprepared. He flounders for a bit and then thrusts his hand across the table, palm-up. Hajime places his own in it and squeezes. Always trying to be reassuring. Oikawa’s watching him like he’s going to explode.

“You’re worrying too much,” Hajime continues when Oikawa doesn’t speak. “I’m not upset. This is really exciting.”

Oikawa gives him a _look_ that says that he can tell otherwise. Hajime was never good at controlling his face. But he’s _not_ lying, at least not in a way that requires Oikawa to do anything. It’s all in his own head. It’s his own problem. He swallows and hates what the concern in Oikawa’s face means.

“I haven’t…” Oikawa begins. Hajime rubs his thumb across Oikawa’s knuckles. “I haven’t responded. Yet.”

“You’re going to accept, right?” Hajime asks, and it’s so easy to ask. It’s so easy to pretend that he doesn’t know the answer already, or that it doesn’t matter either way.

“…probably,” Oikawa replies slowly. “Yeah. I am.”

And there it is. A tiny part of Hajime is satisfied—unknowns are always scarier than known quantities. Even when the known isn’t the answer his brain wants. That’s how he rationalizes it, at least.

“Good,” he says. Oikawa looks pained and Hajime finds himself irrationally irritated at it.

“I promise I was going to tell you.”

“I believe you.”

Hajime’s rice tastes like chalk. He thought talking about it would ease his mind, but he thinks he might have jumped the gun. He needed some time to think. Or maybe he needed less time. Maybe he should have waited for Oikawa to tell him.

 

 

Two months of training is all the warning Hajime gets when Oikawa notifies JAXA of his acceptance of the position. Something that was far enough in the future to be ignored becomes all that he can think about. Hajime thought they’d have to train longer. Maybe since Oikawa’s only half a year out from the first mission he doesn’t have to.

It may be short, but it’s more than enough time for Hajime to fully explore all of the implications of the fact that Oikawa will be heading back out into the great unknown and, as far as Hajime is concerned, disappearing forever. Really leaving.

If he were moving halfway across the world, it would be easy. The idea that Hajime could conceivably hop on a plane and _see_ him, one way or another, would make this all easier. But that’s not what’s happening. Hajime sits in his bedroom one night after Oikawa leaves for his own apartment and stares at his hands, thinking and ignoring the fact that his eyes are watering.

It’s like Oikawa’s dying. Not the same, of course…Hajime hates himself for even thinking it, but no matter how alive Oikawa is, out there in the universe, Hajime will have no way to tell. He’ll have no way to talk to Oikawa, to confirm that he’s okay, to see if he’s eating well, to see if he’s happy.

Hajime’s a very tactile person, but he’d be okay with never touching Oikawa again as long as he could still _talk_ to him. He could…he doesn’t even know what he wants, but Oikawa going into space is not it. Hajime got through eight years with the promise that Oikawa would return, and that was okay. There was an end.

This time the end is the rest of Hajime’s life.

He looks up how to deal with grief and some of the advice he finds helps, maybe. When Oikawa isn’t there, which is rarely, he feels like he might be okay. Then he sees him again, wakes up next to him, and all he can think is _over—this is all going to be over._ Forever.

He knows he’s not being a good boyfriend. He wants to get the most out of the couple of months they do have but his brain is sabotaging him and he can’t concentrate. It’s all anticipation and apprehension. Then he gets anxious about wasting time and when it all comes together Hajime is a mess. He’s holding himself together with sheer force of will and ignoring the way that Oikawa is tiptoeing around him, like he’s going to break. He won’t break, not as long as Oikawa is still walking around on Earth. Breaking is for after.

This time Oikawa senses that something is up and asks Hanamaki to help him pack instead of Hajime. Hajime wants to be offended but he’s more relieved than anything. Time passes agonizingly slowly but still too quickly. Then there are only a few days until Oikawa leaves for the two weeks of medical exams and pre-flight preparation. Hajime won’t be able to see him. Hajime can’t eat.

Two days before Oikawa is set to leave they’re sitting in Hajime’s living room. Hajime is trying to read a magazine but his brain won’t process the words right, not when he’s hyper-aware that Oikawa is right there.

“If you’re going to be mad then be mad,” Oikawa says suddenly. “Don’t do the passive-aggressive thing.”

Hajime bristles, eyes running over the same few words again and again, not really absorbing them. “I’m not being passive-aggressive.”

“Really?” Oikawa asks bluntly. “Then what else do you call it?” Hajime looks away. “If you need to be upset then do that, okay? It’s fine.”

“I’m not upset,” Hajime says, but he knows that Oikawa won’t buy it.

“If you don’t admit it then we can’t work it out,” Oikawa says. Hajime’s jaw sets and he puts down the magazine to stare at Oikawa impassively.

“We can’t work it out,” he says. Oikawa’s mouth does something funny but he doesn’t speak. “It’s not that kind of thing.”

Oikawa looks at him helplessly and doesn’t speak, and Hajime immediately regrets it. He looks back down to his magazine, willing Oikawa to say something. Anything.

After a moment Oikawa takes a breath. “Do you want to break up?”

Not that.

Hajime’s whole body tenses. “No.”

Oikawa must see the sudden fear in his eyes because he retreats. “Okay. Okay.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hajime sighs.

“If we don’t talk about it we can’t fix it,” Oikawa tries again. Hajime is trying so hard to read the words in front of him but nothing is making sense through the fog in his head.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Hajime says quietly.

“There has to be _something_ ,” Oikawa murmurs imploringly. Hajime just wants to read his magazine and make dinner and go to bed and hold onto Oikawa until they fall asleep, and nowhere in that does he want to have a talk about something he can’t control. He’s already had this conversation in his head, with a million different outcomes, and none of them are good or satisfying.

“If there were something I would have thought of it already,” Hajime says, snappier than he intends. Oikawa frowns.

“So I’m leaving in two days and you’re just going to sit there feeling sorry for yourself the whole time?” he asks shortly. Hajime’s eyes snap up and he looks at Oikawa, half in shock. He’s speechless for a moment. Oikawa’s gaze falters but then stabilizes and he watches Hajime expectantly.

“You think I’m just feeling sorry for myself?” Hajime asks, voice low. His hands shake as he closes the magazine. “Is that what this looks like? I’m sorry I’m not _chipper_ ,” his voice rises and Oikawa swallows, “about this whole situation. I don’t think being _sad_ about the person I’m in love with leaving forever is that big of a surprise, do you?” He manages to keep his voice from getting out of control but there’s nothing he can do about the edge in it.

Oikawa opens his mouth and pauses. “I’m going to miss you too,” he starts.

“You think it’s the same thing?” Hajime asks. Oikawa closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. “You’re going off on your great adventure, everything you’ve ever wanted, and I’m here. I’m just here, and I’m just going to stay here, and that’s it. The only thing that’s changing in my life is that I’m losing the most important thing to me.” He looks out, toward the window, because Oikawa’s face is hard to watch. “Maybe I am feeling sorry for myself. Sorry about that.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says quietly. Hajime works his jaw and can’t move his eyes. “Iwa-chan, I don’t _want_ to leave you.”

“Yeah, well,” Hajime sighs. “You are.”

“Hajime,” Oikawa whispers. The name is thick, watery in his mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Hajime says. “That’s not the problem.” He shakes his head. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know.”

Oikawa stands and crosses cautiously to the couch. Hajime’s eyes are glued to the window as Oikawa sits delicately. He doesn’t want to be arguing, if that’s what they’re doing. He doesn’t want Oikawa to be all sad like this. But he can’t let go of the aching in his own chest.

“You said you were happy for me,” Oikawa says, sounding more unsure of himself that Hajime is used to hearing.

“I am happy for you,” Hajime replies. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy.”

Oikawa’s hands curl and uncurl and he stares at his knees. “I’m not leaving forever.”

“What, I’ll see you for a couple months when I’m fifty?” Hajime shoots back, finally turning. Oikawa flinches. “Yes you are.”

“I want you to be happy too,” Oikawa says, the feel of desperation edging into his voice.

“You can’t have it all ways,” Hajime says. “I want to be happy too, don’t you think?” He shifts on the couch and Oikawa glances over at the moment. “I just want you to be happy more. So that’s where we are.”

Oikawa looks lost, and Hajime can practically see the gears turning frantically in his head. Coming up empty. There’s no easy solution, Hajime knows, and no matter how hard Oikawa looks for one he won’t find it.

“I don’t want to leave with you mad at me,” Oikawa says softly. Hajime looks up and then closes his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, beckoning for Oikawa to come closer. Oikawa hesitates before shifting over on the couch. Hajime raises his arm and Oikawa leans in, taking another glance at Hajime’s face before resting his head against his chest. Hajime’s hand lands on Oikawa’s arm and he rubs it with his thumb.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, suddenly tired. “Like I said, this isn’t something you can fix. That’s just how it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says. Hajime pinches his arm and he yelps, lifting his head to look at Hajime indignantly.

“Don’t be dumb,” Hajime says. “Be excited.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says.

“Unless you’re having second thoughts,” Hajime says, and he knows he must sound a little desperate.

Oikawa pauses and then shakes his head. Hajime sighs, because what other answer did he expect? Nothing. He didn’t expect anything else. He doesn’t expect anything anymore. He tilts his head and kisses Oikawa’s temple, lingering there.

Denial is a powerful thing, and it carries Hajime right up until the morning after Oikawa leaves. He walks Oikawa to the local train station and then rides with him to Sendai station, and then Oikawa heads for his platform. It’s in public so they don’t get anything more than a hug, an achingly long one that almost makes Oikawa miss the train. Hajime goes shopping and eats dinner by himself and doesn’t feel anything.

In the morning he wakes up, brushes his teeth, finishes grading some worksheets, and goes to the school. He teaches his classes.

That afternoon he tries to cry, but it feels empty. He doesn’t know when Oikawa is going into isolation before the flight, but he texts him anyway. He gets a response and they talk on the phone for half an hour before Oikawa has somewhere to be.

That’s okay for another couple of days, but then Oikawa can’t respond anymore. He’s too busy and they have to make sure he isn’t leaking important information about the mission. Not that he would.

In the morning Hajime thinks about texting Oikawa, but the sudden realization that he can’t hits him. He brushes his teeth and finishes grading some essays and then sits at the foot of his bed, shirt unbuttoned, staring at the wall. Feeling nothing. The school calls and he turns his phone off.

Twenty years begin now.

 

 

If Hajime got to choose, he would not have chosen for it to start out with anger. Hajime _doesn’t_ get to choose, however, so it all begins with Oikawa shoving his math textbook to the floor of his bedroom. The book hits with a loud thud and Hajime jerks, looking up from the book he’s reading. Oikawa lets out a long, tense sigh, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“What’s up?” Hajime asks. Oikawa shakes his head and grabs the sheet of lined paper in front of him. He crumples it and throws it to the ground as well and then stands.

“I’m never going to learn this,” Oikawa says, his voice thin and matter-of-fact. “I’m never going to fucking learn this.” His jaw works under the skin and then he lets out a too-loud “fuck!” and kicks at his desk chair, slamming it into the desk and making one of his competition trophies fall over.

Hajime pops up, leaving the book. “What’s wrong with you?” he demands. Oikawa turns to him with a glare and Hajime holds eye contact.

“This is impossible,” Oikawa says. “It’s impossible and that fucking problem set kept me up last night because I didn’t understand _any_ of it. If I have to look at one more goddamn integral I am going to jump out the window.”

Oikawa’s eyes flare in a challenge and Hajime looks down at the book on the floor. “You need to give yourself a break.”

“If it’s going to take me fifteen hours to do every single problem set then I can’t take a break, can I?” Oikawa snaps. Hajime doesn’t crack.

“You’re not going to learn shit when you’re half-dead,” Hajime says.

“If I weren’t a fucking idiot I’d be able to get it done,” Oikawa says bitterly. Hajime tenses.

“Don’t say that,” he says. Oikawa’s eyes drift and he stares at the floor instead. Hajime shakes his shoulder. “I said don’t say that.”

“Well, if it’s true,” Oikawa mumbles, and Hajime moves to smack him upside the head. Oikawa blocks it and pushes Hajime’s hand away. He sniffs and then continues, impassioned again: “ _And_ my mom wants to put me back in cram school since exams are coming up.” He laughs and shrugs helplessly, his sleeves too long for his arms. “I can’t do everything.”

“You can’t do anything if you don’t sleep once in a while,” Hajime says. Oikawa rolls his eyes and Hajime feels irritation spike in him.

“Everyone else already knows how to do this stuff,” Oikawa continues. “I’m the dumbest person in the class, probably, and professor is like ‘who the fuck is this high schooler?’ because I asked him specially if I could be in the class and now I can’t get anything done.”

“I know that’s not true—”

“You haven’t been there!”

“Can you shut up for two seconds?” Hajime asks roughly. Oikawa’s eyes narrow at him but clouding the attempted glare is uncertainty and exhaustion. Hajime doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before, when he walked in, but Oikawa looks so unbelievably tired. It shows in his shoulders and under his eyes. It shows in his heavy breaths and shuffling steps.

“You going to give me some pick-me-up speech?” Oikawa asks unkindly.

“No,” Hajime says. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

“Probably not.” Oikawa’s tongue searches the inside of his cheek and he crosses his arms.

Hajime searches the room like it can give him words. “I think you bit off more than you can chew,” he says. Oikawa laughs.

“Great pep talk.”

“Shut up. I think you bit off more than you can chew and now you’ve got to deal with it. I also think that you feel like you’ve got something to prove.”

“Welcome to my whole life,” Oikawa says.

“You’re a high schooler in an upper level university class,” Hajime says. “That’s already impressive. But then you have to go and try to be Mr. Boy Genius, and you’re not. You’re just not. And just because you’re not a savant doesn’t mean you aren’t smart enough for this stuff.”

“What do you know?” Oikawa snaps suddenly, defensively. “I’m not trying to be anything.”

“Yes, you are,” Hajime shoots back. “You always are. You always have to be the best and the smartest and whatever and it’s making you miserable.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re right. You’re always right. I’m just a try-hard and the only reason I don’t want to _fail_ this fucking class is because of my ego, right?” Oikawa huffs and shoves Hajime half-heartedly by the shoulders. Hajime catches his hands.

“That’s not what I said,” Hajime tries, but Oikawa shakes his head.

“It’s what you meant.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime says firmly. Oikawa looks up at him, wrists still caught in Hajime’s grip. “Don’t take this shit out on me. I just want you to sleep. I don’t care if you spend every waking moment on those shitty problem sets but I’m not going to let you run yourself into the ground because of them.”

“It’s not up to you to _let_ me,” Oikawa says, but the fire in him seems to be losing to exhaustion. He sighs and Hajime can see how his body sways unsteadily.

“Please,” Hajime says. “Just humor me.”

Oikawa lets out a long breath and then shrugs helplessly. “What, are we just going to take a nap right now?”

“If you want to.”

“You care too much,” Oikawa says, the fight leaving him. Hajime lets go of his wrists and they fall to his sides.

“Is it too much?” Hajime asks, softer than he intends.

Oikawa swallows and shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I’m not going to stop caring,” Hajime says. “Whether you like it or not.”

Oikawa huffs out a breath. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

His eyes meet Hajime’s and something in the air changes. Hajime looks at him, just a little bit up because Oikawa is only barely taller than him. It’s not an unreadable look at all—Hajime just isn’t sure he’s gotten the right reading. It’s something determined, intense, a bit uncertain. It makes Hajime shiver.

They’re closer than he thought they were. When he brings up his hand it finds its way to the nape of Oikawa’s neck easily, comfortably. Oikawa sucks in a breath and then they’re even closer. Hajime doesn’t remember moving but their noses brush and Hajime’s eyes close just in time to feel Oikawa speaking almost right against his lips.

“I’m really fucking tired,” he whispers, and their lips meet.

Hajime knows that it isn’t Oikawa’s first kiss, and he’s not possessive enough for that to bother him too much. But it is _his_ first kiss, soft and delicate, and he’s glad that at least one of them has an idea of what they’re doing. Hajime thinks his lips must be chapped, because he can tell that Oikawa’s aren’t and they’ve always been opposite that way. He can’t do a whole lot of thinking over the rush of happiness that fills him, leaving him almost giddy. Oikawa’s lips move against his and his hand tightens around the back of Oikawa’s neck.

When he pulls back he knows he must have the dumbest look on his face. Oikawa looks a little lost, in a good way. He opens his mouth to speak but it takes him a minute.

“So, that nap…?” And Hajime laughs, mostly to expel some of the nervous energy collecting in his chest.

They don’t talk about it, but it becomes a _thing_ , so Hajime thinks they probably should eventually. A sci-fi movie Oikawa has been waiting to see comes out and they go to watch it. Halfway through Oikawa’s hand lands on his leg and in a minute they’re kissing in the back of the theater, hidden by the darkness and noise. When they leave Oikawa goes to the bathroom to fix his hair and then they head home like nothing happened.

It’s little touches and a whole lot of kissing, mostly in one of their bedrooms, sometimes on Hajime’s bed, one time on Oikawa’s bed where Hajime manages to lose most of his clothing. It goes on for so long it becomes commonplace, just another feature of their relationship, like it had always been there. Exams pass, university admissions come out. Oikawa passes his physics class. They’re both going to Tokyo, albeit different schools. Graduation draws nearer.

Hajime may not have been Oikawa’s first kiss but he’s Oikawa’s first _everything else_ , a position he’s honestly honored to have. Not that he’d say that to Oikawa. He’s too busy accidentally saying other dangerous things.

It’s a dangerous situation all over, pressing Oikawa against a desk in an abandoned classroom after school. The lights are off and the door should be locked, but the thrill that comes with the potential for discovery keeps Hajime on edge. He has his hand down Oikawa’s pants and Oikawa is moaning quietly into his mouth and Hajime is so intensely focused that he loses track of his own mind.

Oikawa grips his shoulders tightly enough to hurt, perched unsteadily on the desk with his legs spread around Hajime’s. His uniform jacket is on the floor and Hajime’s tie will need to be found later, and he’s so incredibly beautiful like this that Hajime wants the moment to last forever.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa gasps. Hajime can feel his legs trembling and he moves his hand more quickly. Oikawa tenses and tries to kiss Hajime, but ends up just resting their foreheads together as he takes in shaky breaths. Then the hands around Hajime’s shoulders tighten, impossibly, and his hips jerk as he comes with a high whine.

Hajime carries him through it. Oikawa’s breaths are heavy and he takes a moment before he looks up at Hajime, mouth parted and eyes wide.

Hajime should be paying attention to himself but he isn’t, so he speaks.

“I love you,” he says.

Oikawa blinks at him and realization dawns on Hajime. His eyes blow impossibly wide and he retrieves his hand quickly, searching for something to wipe it on. He spots a box of tissues on the windowsill and leaves Oikawa to take a few, some for him and some to help Oikawa clean up. His mind is whirring at light speed, and he doesn’t want to look at Oikawa’s face.

Oikawa hasn’t said anything, and he continues to not say anything as Hajime comes back. His shirt is untucked and his pants are unzipped and his hair is a mess. He accepts the tissues. Hajime tries very hard to make it look like he isn’t having a heart attack.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa finally starts. Hajime tenses.

“Sorry, I don’t know what…I just got caught up in the moment. Don’t worry about it,” Hajime tries, but the look on Oikawa’s face lets him know that he’s not being very convincing.

“Iwa-chan, I—”

“It’s really okay,” Hajime breathes, because he can feel the rejection on Oikawa’s tongue. “You don’t have to…”

“ _Iwa-chan,_ ” Oikawa says. Hajime’s mouth snaps shut.

“Yeah,” he replies.

Oikawa zips up his pants and moves to sit more comfortably on the desk. “I really like you,” he says. Hajime wonders if he can somehow unlock the ability to melt into the floor.

“Right,” he says, voice ghostly. Oikawa’s eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“That’s not a…there’s no ‘but,’” he says. “I really like you. I just…I might love you. Probably. I don’t know. I don’t know what that would mean. It’s just.” He sighs. “A lot.”

Hajime nods. “Sorry,” he says.

“For what?” Oikawa challenges.

“Putting you on the spot,” Hajime says. “Being weird.”

 _Making us talk about it_ , he doesn’t say. It’s been a good system, and while the crush Hajime has been nursing since early middle school isn’t completely satisfied it’s still as perfect as it can get. And now he’s making them talk about it, which means they’ll have to come to some decision, which is terrifying.

Oikawa holds out his hand. Hajime looks at it and then takes it tentatively. Oikawa pulls him in and brings their lips together tightly, parting his legs again so Hajime can fit between them. Hajime relaxes into the kiss, almost embarrassingly so.

“I want to keep doing this,” Oikawa says against his lips.

At least one piece of the anxiety in Hajime’s throat loosens and he nods, kissing Oikawa again. “Me too.”

“Good.”

They kiss for a while longer and then Hajime pulls back to look at Oikawa’s face. Every once in a while the reality of the situation hits him anew and he succumbs to the sheer wonder at the fact that he and Oikawa are this close, that Oikawa _wants_ him to be this close. He swallows.

“Do you want to…date, or something?” he asks.

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrow. “What have we _been_ doing?” he asks. Hajime balks.

“I didn’t want to assume anything,” he says quickly.

“We went to the _aquarium_ , and then had _dinner together_ , and then I spent the night at _your house_ ,” Oikawa counts on his fingers. Hajime hides his face in his hand. “Oh, and what about the time when you showed up with flowers? And we went for a walk by the ocean. Which was very romantic, by the way. Are you telling me that wasn’t a date? What are you trying to say?” Oikawa puts his hands on his hips and gives Hajime a _look_.

“I don’t know,” Hajime groans. “Yes. It was. I’m an idiot.”

Oikawa _tsk_ s and flicks Hajime’s nose lightly. “So glad you finally caught up,” he says cheekily.

Hajime grimaces and tugs on Oikawa’s leg hard enough to nearly pull him off the desk. Oikawa squawks and clings to the desk, kicking at Hajime with his other leg. Hajime captures that one too.

“End of the line,” he says. Oikawa glares at him.

“Iwa-chan, do _not_.”

“Do not what?”

“I will kill you.”

Hajime doesn’t pull, and Oikawa doesn’t kill him, and then they hear voices in the hall so they make their escape and go home.

 

 

Hajime knows that Hanamaki and Matsukawa must be worried about him. He’s been ignoring their calls and texts and hasn’t really left his apartment. He knows it’s bad, and he also knows that he doesn’t care. He likes the quiet.

He also expects them to come over at some point, when they realize that they aren’t going to get through to him otherwise. He doesn’t want to see them, or anyone. He sits and watches bad TV and doesn’t eat enough and doesn’t think about anything at all.

It’s raining when the knock on his door finally comes. Hajime hasn’t even looked at his phone for a few days now—it’s probably somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. He wonders if Hanamaki and Matsukawa texted him before coming over. He stands and pauses the show, and then he shuffles over to the door.

“I’m fine,” he says, loud enough for them to hear him. There’s a pause, then another knock, this one faster. He closes his eyes and brushes back his hair before unlocking and opening the door.

Oikawa is standing there, soaking wet, an inverted umbrella hanging at his side. His bangs are dripping—the rest of his hair is covered by the hood of his raincoat—and his eyes are red. Hajime doesn’t know if he accidentally sniffed enough paint fumes to be hallucinating or if he’s actually going off the deep end because there is no way, in any universe, that this is real.

“You’re in Tokyo,” he says.

“I’m cold, is what I am,” Oikawa huffs, voice thick. “Can I come in?”

“How…” Hajime wracks his brain but he can’t find a way to explain this. He feels like he just ran flat-out into a brick wall. “You’re going to be _late_ ,” he finally says.

Oikawa stares at him for a moment, mouth parted, and then he smiles. It’s a slow thing, tired, unhurried. Hajime’s breath catches in his throat because it’s one of Oikawa’s _real_ smiles, the ones that give him bags under his eyes and poke dimples in his cheeks.

“They’ll be okay without me,” he says, and then a shiver overtakes him. His smile turns into a pout. “Stop hogging all the warm and let me in!”

Hajime steps to the side and Oikawa passes him. He watches as Oikawa slips out of his rain boots and sets the broken umbrella against the wall, sighing loudly. Watches as he shrugs off his jacket. He’s wearing a JAXA sweater underneath, the kind you could find at a thrift store, and Hajime always thought that it was silly for him to have it given all the real, official gear he has. Oikawa is a silly person.

Oikawa is in his apartment.

“Why are you here?” Hajime asks in wonder.

Oikawa pauses and then turns, eyes meeting Hajime’s with something deep in them. “We can talk,” he says, and then he steps toward Hajime. Hajime opens his arms automatically and Oikawa presses up against him, arms around his shoulders, cheek pressing against his neck. “But can we just…for a minute?”

Hajime _can just_ for a million years, if that’s what Oikawa wants. He _can just_ for the rest of his life, with Oikawa’s bangs dripping water down his neck and his hands on Oikawa’s back and Oikawa’s lips against his shoulder. Before Hajime even realizes it his eyes are watering and he breathes in with a shudder. Oikawa pulls back, concerned.

“No, no, no, please don’t cry,” he breathes, and Hajime wonders if that’s what he’s doing. He takes in another breath that catches in his throat.

“You’re not…” he starts, voice colored by disbelief. The relief—the pure, aching relief—floods him and he sniffles. Oikawa shrugs, his own smile tentative and searching.

“I’m too pretty for space,” he explains, and Hajime laughs even as his throat tightens and his vision clouds.

“You’d flirt with the fucking aliens,” he says, and even though it’s a dumb joke Oikawa laughs. It hits Hajime then, amid the disbelief and surprise and relief.

Oikawa is _here,_ which means he’s _staying_ , which means _forever_ , maybe.

Hajime pulls Oikawa back in for an absolutely crushing hug, burying his own face into Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa lets out an _oof_ and then his arms curl around Hajime just as tightly. His hands are cold but he’s warm anyway. Oikawa always called Hajime the space heater but now Hajime feels like he’ll freeze to death the moment Oikawa pulls away.

They stay that way for a long time—Hajime isn’t sure how long. It could be five minutes, or it could be forty-five. Oikawa is warm and smells right and Hajime could fall asleep if it weren’t for the overwhelming mix of emotions in his gut. His eyes aren’t wet anymore but there’s some part of him that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Oikawa says he’s tired and he wants to wear pants that aren’t soaked, so Hajime leads them down the hall to his bedroom.

Oikawa changes into sweatpants and sprawls out face-down on Hajime’s bed. Like it’s a normal night, like Hajime’s going to have to needle him into getting up to brush his teeth. Like Hajime hasn’t been alone. Like Oikawa didn’t just leave forever.

“Did something happen?” Hajime asks, slipping off his own pants. Oikawa shakes his head and then shrugs and nods instead, all into Hajime’s pillow. Hajime furrows his brow and sits on the edge of the bed. Oikawa rolls over onto his side.

“No,” Oikawa says, pulling on Hajime’s arm. Hajime lets himself be pulled until he’s lying down. Oikawa flings a leg over him and snuggles into his arm. Something in Hajime’s stomach is making him uncomfortable. Anxiety.

“Then why…?”

Oikawa sniffs and clings a little tighter. “I missed you,” he murmurs into Hajime’s chest. Hajime’s body flushes cold and he recoils, accidentally displacing Oikawa’s head.

“Oikawa,” he says dangerously. Oikawa props himself up on his arm and won’t meet Hajime’s eyes. “ _Oikawa_ ,” he presses again. “Tell me you’re joking.” Oikawa won’t look at him. “ _Oikawa_ , this isn’t just about right now…this isn’t…and you can’t…” Oikawa’s eyes are glued to the bed and his eyelashes are long. Hajime thinks that his own hands might be shaking. “Please tell me that something happened, and that you didn’t give up going on the mission that’s going to decide the rest of your _life_ because of…”

Oikawa’s been silent but then he pulls in a watery breath and brings up a hand to cover his face. Hajime doesn’t want him to be crying, he never wants Oikawa to cry. But Hajime’s tense too and his heart is beating too fast for him to move.

“Tooru,” he says, strained, pleading. Oikawa’s breath shakes as badly as Hajime’s hands and he wipes ineffectively at his eye. Hajime’s heart lurches and now he thinks he might be panicking. “You’ll get over it. I’ll get over it. But I’m not going to let you regret… _anything_ , because of me… _fuck!”_

Oikawa hides his face in his hand and Hajime can’t do anything but pull him into an awkward, uncomfortable embrace. Oikawa’s head hits Hajime’s shoulder and then he’s crying for real, choking back tiny sobs. His hands curl into Hajime’s shirt. Hajime’s heart is sinking through the bed and through ten floors and into the ground.

“Tooru,” he says softly, “I’m not…I’m not worth it. You need to be out there. It’s where you belong. You’re so fucking good at it. No one else deserves to be up there as much as you do. There’s so much you have left.”

“I want to,” Oikawa says, voice thick. “I want to.”

 _But_ , is what he doesn’t say. Hajime can hear it in the air. “I’m going to get you something to drink,” he says, because he needs a minute and so does Oikawa. “Do you want tea?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “Can we sleep? Please.” he asks. Hajime takes in a slow breath, considering. He could push. He should. It’s what he’s good at—pushing Oikawa when he’s being dumb, keeping him on the road. But Oikawa is crying and Hajime isn’t a fucking _Vulcan_ so he nods.

“Yeah. We can.”

Oikawa’s mouth pulls like he’s trying to smile but it doesn’t come out right, with red bags under his eyes and a sniffle. “I love you,” he says quietly. Hajime swallows.

“You’re an idiot.”

Oikawa shrugs limply. “Yeah.”

“I love you too.”

They don’t even kiss when they lie down. Hajime curls his arm around Oikawa’s chest, maybe tighter than he should. Their legs intertwine and Oikawa holds his hand and Hajime feels like he’s finally breathing air after days of living underwater.

 

 

“I don’t know economics,” Oikawa starts, “But I did a little cost-benefit analysis.”

He sits on Hajime’s couch, cross-legged, a blanket draped over his shoulders. It’s a little after nine in the morning, and Hajime is having trouble listening because it really hit him, when he woke up to Oikawa’s face, calm and smushed up against his pillow, that this is real.

“I figure I want two things, so what am I more willing to give up?” Oikawa continues. He laughs a little under his breath and shrugs. “And you know I don’t like giving up anything.”

“I like the new self-awareness,” Hajime jabs lightly. Oikawa wrinkles his nose and flicks Hajime’s knee.

“Shut up until I’m done talking,” he says. Oikawa adjusts his seat and continues. “I want to be there, you know? Finding and discovering and learning, and the idea of going so far out into the universe that no one else has ever been there is just…” he searches the couch for words, “...I don’t even know how to describe it. Just being out there _one whole light-year_ , and twenty years ago humans hadn’t even been to Mars! And it was so fucking boring but I loved it. If you shined a flashlight at me from Earth it would take a _year_ to get there and we can’t even comprehend how far that is. And I was _there_.”

Hajime watches Oikawa’s face, lighting up the way it does whenever he talks about space, about astronomy, about exploring, about learning. He’s so incredibly beautiful like this, his brain so big it’s bursting at the seams and Hajime is so proud of him he thinks he might throw up.

“And it’s all my _dream_ ,” Oikawa says, something in his voice breaking. He pauses, taking a breath, eyes wandering down and the light in them dulling. “But then I have this thought.”

Hajime waits for him to continue, but Oikawa doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Hajime nudges Oikawa’s hand with his own and Oikawa grabs it like it’s going to keep him alive.

“At 96% of the speed of light the time dilation’s so bad that you end up living four times slower than everyone else. Roughly, you know. And I just...if I took this mission I’d be gone five years my time, twenty years here--you know that part. And then if I get assigned the Proxima mission that’s more than four years both ways my time...that’s thirty-two your time, but of course things would take longer, we’d explore, we’d go back and forth, and…” Oikawa takes a breath and it’s shaky. He squeezes Hajime’s hand. “And I’d be fifty or something, eventually. And at some point I’d be so many light-years from Earth and--”

Oikawa cuts himself off with a hitched breath and Hajime jumps forward, a hand on Oikawa’s cheek to brush away the tears. Oikawa looks up and when his eyes meet Hajime’s his face breaks.

“And I’d know that you weren’t out there anymore,” he whispers, and his mouth screws up weirdly, “…I can’t…” He smiles grimly and cocks his head. “I can’t do that. I can’t lose…” His eyes are glassy but his jaw is set, trying to pull into a smile but looking more like a grimace. Hajime curls his arms around Oikawa and he’s sure he must be squeezing all the air out of him. He doesn’t care and Oikawa doesn’t seem to either.

“I’m here right now,” he murmurs, a hand finding its way into Oikawa’s hair and running through it. “I’m here.”

“I _know_ ,” Oikawa breathes into Hajime’s collarbone. His voice is thick. “I know, I know.”

“It’s okay,” Hajime soothes. Oikawa shifts so he can breathe, his forehead tucked into the place where Hajime’s neck meets his shoulder. There’s a moment of silence, the only sounds Hajime’s heart and Oikawa’s unsteady breathing.

“I want to be out there,” Oikawa says against Hajime’s chest, and his breath hitches again but he calms it. “I want to be there so badly. But I want to be here, and shop for an apartment with you, and get a dog and make breakfast together and maybe, I don’t know--” a sniffle “--get _rings_ or something, and when the rest of them go out there I can read about it. I won’t be on the front lines but I can read about it, but I can’t _read_ about _you_ …”

“You don’t have to,” Hajime breathes. He rubs circles into Oikawa’s back and matches his breaths and he tries not to get too ahead of himself. But the cloud in his mind is clearing and he feels like laughing and crying at the same time. This is it. He’s holding Oikawa and that’s how it will be.

“I know.”

Hajime pauses for a long moment and then snorts. Oikawa looks up at him suspiciously, through watery eyes.

“What?”

“Did you just propose to me?” Hajime asks. Oikawa’s eyes widen and he immediately averts his gaze.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to get a copy of the transcript,” he says, attempting nonchalance. Hajime’s smile isn’t something he can control.

“I accept,” he says. “Your proposal.”

“No!” Oikawa whines. “I had a whole plan—don’t accept yet.”

Hajime’s grinning now, so wide it hurts to try and suppress. He’s glad Oikawa isn’t looking at his face. “A whole plan? I rescind my acceptance.”

“Good,” Oikawa huffs. He seems to have calmed down enough to pull a bit away from Hajime’s grasp, and he wipes at his eyes. “Also, entirely unrelated, we’re going hiking on Mt. Taihaku this weekend. Nothing to do with what we were just talking about. Just something I thought of right now.”

Hajime laughs just to get the bubbling feeling out of his chest and Oikawa looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I’ve never seen you smile so much,” Oikawa says. “Are you okay? I have aspirin.”

Hajime kisses Oikawa like it’s their first kiss, like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Oikawa hums and Hajime can feel him smiling.

“I love hiking,” Hajime says, and it means _I love you._

 

 

“I want to see your birthday presents,” Oikawa says around a mouthful of apple. He plops onto Hajime’s bed and kicks his feet. “Did you get anything good?”

Hajime shrugs. They’ve already been playing with the volleyball he received a few days prior and he’s not sure what else Oikawa would find interesting. He got a lot of new clothes (because now that he’s nine his parents think that’s a good idea), a wave board (but the likelihood that his mother will take them to the beach is very slim), and some sports sunglasses that wrap all the way around his head.

He also got a weird lamp, and even though he doesn’t really know what it does it seems like the only thing that Oikawa would be interested in seeing.

He holds up a finger and Oikawa hums quietly on his bed as he opens his closet and searches for the box. It has fallen behind a tub full of winter clothes and he manages to heave it up and out. Oikawa hops off the bed and wanders over as Hajime opens the box.

It’s a dome with a black base, and a cord, and that’s it. No interesting shape, no colors. Just a regular old lamp. Hajime’s eyes flick to Oikawa, who hasn’t said anything.

“My uncle said it was really cool,” Hajime says, suddenly embarrassed as he pulls it out of the box. A packet of directions comes out with the lamp and falls to the carpet. Oikawa crouches down and watches Hajime unwrap the cord, silent save for the bite of apple he’s chewing.

Hajime is a bit disappointed, and he crawls over to the outlet to plug the lamp in just in case there’s something else to it. He hopes it doesn’t do something dumb like play music.

“Sky…elephant?” Oikawa reads, and Hajime flushes, eyes snapping to the packet, which is now in Oikawa’s hand.

“It’s supposed to be cool,” he repeats, a bit softer.

“No, I’m just trying to read the Chinese,” Oikawa says, waving his hand dismissively. He turns a page. “It’s a ‘home planetarium.’”

He turns the packet around and points to the largest word. Hajime blinks and then looks down at the lamp. “What does it do?”

“It’s _your_ present,” Oikawa says, but he obligingly reads. “ _Make the universe come to life in your own home! Stargaze from your bedroom or set the mood for a star party._ What’s a star party?”

Hajime furrows his brow and searches for the on-switch. There a little tab on the bottom and he flicks it.

At once the lamp lights up, but when he looks around the room it just looks like a regular light. He holds his hand over it and it makes a speckled pattern on his skin. He waits a moment, hoping it might do something else. “This is sorta lame,” he complains, disappointed. Oikawa holds out his own hand and watches the dots on it.

“You’re supposed to turn off the lights,” he explains, scanning the instructions.

“It’s too early,” Hajime says. “Even if we turn off the lights it’ll be too bright.”

“I want to see it,” Oikawa says. Hajime looks around helplessly.

“I can’t make it be night.”

But the look on Oikawa’s face means he’s going to get annoying, and at the same time as Hajime speaks he gets an idea. He shoos Oikawa out of his bedroom and says that he’ll just be a minute. It’s been a while, but his bed is far enough off the ground that he can pull over his desk chair and pin a blanket to it. He hears Oikawa whistling in the upstairs hallway.

His winter comforter is thick enough to block out the light. He places a couple of pillows on the floor and when he deems it worthy he calls Oikawa back in. Oikawa’s apple core is gone and he examines the blanket fort with care.

“Good work,” he praises, and Hajime scowls.

“Come on,” he says. “You wanted to see it.”

Oikawa nods quickly and crawls inside. Hajime takes the lamp and crawls after Oikawa into the small fort with it tucked under his arm, setting it up at their feet. In the sliver of light before Hajime closes the blanket again he sees Oikawa watching the lamp intently from behind his knees.

Hajime finds the switch on the bottom of the lamp in the dark and without any fanfare he flicks it on. Almost immediately there’s a light directly in his eye and he flinches, a sunspot glowing behind his closed eyes. He hears Oikawa’s breath hitch next to him, and when he opens his eyes he sees why.

The fort is small, but it suddenly feels enormous. Dots of light spin incredibly slowly around them, small and so numerous that Hajime doesn’t know if he can even count that high. His eyes can’t decide where to look, but some are bigger and smaller and there’s the white brush of what looks like the Milky Way directly above them.

Oikawa is mesmerized, stars projected onto his face and knees as he looks around. Hajime’s not sure he’s ever seen Oikawa this focused or this quiet. It’s almost more interesting than the stars, the way his mouth parts and his eyes glow in the darkness.

“It’s stars,” Hajime says dumbly. Oikawa’s eyes drift over the roof of the fort, and Hajime’s follow them. It doesn’t even look like a blanket anymore.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says absently, reaching out a hand. He pokes a large star and then trails to another, finger sliding on Hajime’s comforter. Hajime sees the dots on Oikawa’s arm like freckles. “Stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmu on tumblr @ not-the-kind-you-save


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